A photo montage of the Good Flea at earlier ages seemed to be in order today. Don't ask why because I don't have a good answer. I can only tell you that as an ugly red headed child, I put PDub to shame. Please don't judge me harshly. If I could PhotoShop myself prettier, I would.
I thought it might be a good thing to do this chronologically, so this photo is first. See the pretty moss strewn trees? I grew up in Louisiana. That look says a lot. I wish I knew exactly what it says.
The next photo says oh so much more, and I can tell you exactly what that is. "I got caught eating the spinach and liking it. And I talk with a mouth full of food." I really hope that's spinach (which I do like), because I'd hate to think what it might be otherwise.
The next one in line is over on the left, my first grade picture, the one you see every time you come here. First grade ... I was the child who got in trouble for doodling all over the margins of my standardized tests. You know, the one where you fill in the little bubbles with a pencil, and if you write anywhere else, it really screws up the computerized reader, as it reads EVERY PENCIL MARK. That was the year I took ballet. No Pioneer Woman here. I remember my ballet teacher telling me I was too clumsy, but my mother has recently corrected me, saying that I didn't like ballet, or the teacher, or something. My revisionist history is the better version. Sorry, Mom.
This one is Christmas at age eight. Anyone out there know what I'm holding? Anyone? My very first sewing kit! And see that tree behind me? We did Christmas at my dad's parents and that was my absolute favorite Christmas tree in the entire world EVER. Anyone out there remember the aluminum trees with the spun fabric balls? I thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. One day I'll have one of my very own. *sigh*
This next one I was probably eleven years old, before anything really developed, and I was fanatical about my fuzzy string hair ribbons. Skinny, gawky, butt-ugly child. And didn't everyone have a pair of giant tortoise rim glasses? Please say it wasn't just me. Please! If the picture weren't so blurry you'd see the mass of freckles. Ugh. Hideous.
Now this one - this could have been some serious blackmail material. My best friend in the whole world, Sheryl, and I would, on the weekends, spend the night at each other's homes. Many nights we would drag out our mothers' old makeup - they'd give us the stuff they were going to trash - or head to the drugstore and buy Wet'n'Wild makeup for a dollar, then paint each other's faces to look ridiculous. This isn't one of those times. I think I was about 13 here and had just come back from an event at which my face was painted by a professional clown and I was attempting to recreate the look. I painted Sheryl's little sister's face as well. Sheryl was smart enough to steer clear of the clown makeup. But the two of us had more than our fair share of painting our selves to look like hookers on other nights. Good times.
The last one is the contemplative Flea. No clue what I was thinking. I think I was about 14 or 15, and at that time I wanted to be a writer. Don't I look here as though I'm writing entire novels in my head? No? Well I was. So there. Alright, alright - I was probably mentally writing a letter to the love of my life at that time, Keith. He had no idea he was the love of my life. I'd met him at summer camp and he was a writer, an artist and a musician. He was the primary reason I went back to camp every year. And he had a mustache! (swoon) I really did write to him frequently, and he actually wrote back. He even wrote a poem for me when my mockingbird fell in the toilet and drowned.
Enough with old love interests and ugly pictures! How do you stand it? And please tell me someone else had one of those glorious silver Christmas trees.
Until I write again ...