Where are the Wild Things?
And Max said "Be still!" and they were still.
One of my happiest childhood memories is of being picked to play Max in a class play of Where the Wild Things are. I think I must have been about 5, and the teacher read the story while we all stomped around on the stage with very little rehearsal. I think the only line was mine, and I had to shout "Be still!" as loud as I possibly could. I didn't really realise what all the fuss was until the day, when we came to do the production and my mum had turned up (without me really knowing, I was fairly clueless in those days) to watch me, thrilled to bits. I remember feeling just genuinely important and special in a way that I rarely did.
If I ever get a tattoo it'll either be of a hot air balloon, or Max in his wild thing suit. The detail probably wouldn't last too well though, and I can't help feeling that to get such a tattoo would brand me forever as the worst kind of wannabe hipster.
In other news, we've entered some kind of mexican standoff over cleaning in our house. We are each supposed to clean once a month but some people are less conscientious than others. I don't really mind, except that it's my turn to clean next week, and nobody has cleaned since I last cleaned. I wouldn't be too fussed but it is starting to look a bit grim round the edges. I can't decide whether ignore it, to down tools too, fire off an annoyingly reasonable email to everyone or just write "do some cleaning please" on a big bit of paper and leave it in the living room. The last option is probably my favourite. I mean, everyone has stuff going on but I didn't move in to be some kind of unpaid household slave. Or did I?
One of my happiest childhood memories is of being picked to play Max in a class play of Where the Wild Things are. I think I must have been about 5, and the teacher read the story while we all stomped around on the stage with very little rehearsal. I think the only line was mine, and I had to shout "Be still!" as loud as I possibly could. I didn't really realise what all the fuss was until the day, when we came to do the production and my mum had turned up (without me really knowing, I was fairly clueless in those days) to watch me, thrilled to bits. I remember feeling just genuinely important and special in a way that I rarely did.
If I ever get a tattoo it'll either be of a hot air balloon, or Max in his wild thing suit. The detail probably wouldn't last too well though, and I can't help feeling that to get such a tattoo would brand me forever as the worst kind of wannabe hipster.
In other news, we've entered some kind of mexican standoff over cleaning in our house. We are each supposed to clean once a month but some people are less conscientious than others. I don't really mind, except that it's my turn to clean next week, and nobody has cleaned since I last cleaned. I wouldn't be too fussed but it is starting to look a bit grim round the edges. I can't decide whether ignore it, to down tools too, fire off an annoyingly reasonable email to everyone or just write "do some cleaning please" on a big bit of paper and leave it in the living room. The last option is probably my favourite. I mean, everyone has stuff going on but I didn't move in to be some kind of unpaid household slave. Or did I?
Comments
Post a Comment