Using only the fingers on one hand, I can count how many things I've stolen in my life.
I've stolen:
1. A pack of water balloons that were shaped like the cartoon heads of animals.
I still remember they were different colors... and the animals that stick out most to me are a cat, a dog, and a mouse. They had faces painted on them.
I was about three, my brother was about four. Mom and Dad refused to buy us the pack... so I kept a look out while brother stuffed the baggie in his pant pocket.
Mom caught us playing with the balloons once we got home. She called us over to have a talk with Dad... and then they scared us into thinking DAD was going to go to jail because of what WE stole. Rafa and I started to cry and apologize repeatedly as we handed over the balloons.
What a fucking traumatic way to teach us a lesson... but I guess it was better than getting spanked... that shit always sucked.
You might think being three is too young for someone to remember... but trust me... I remember some of the weirdest shit... and this is certainly one of those lucky memories, because I've never felt SO guilty.
I'm sure it's partly to blame for my aversion of balloons. Blaaaaah!
2. Dark blue Wet n' Wild nail polish.
It was 99 cents, but Mom refused to buy it for me because "those dark color are only worn by Satanists!" A thought she firmly held until 2007, when I finally said "fuck it!" purchased some black nail polish, and applied it while waiting for a study session to begin.
Anyway, this day I was probably in 6th grade, Mom had forced me into accompanying her to the grocery store, I was feeling rebellious, and I grabbed the polish.
I was having severe bouts with my conscience as Mom continued to shop around. I'd take the nail polish out of my pocket and place it on a shelf... then I'd start walking away.
But I waaaaaant it! It looks like the night sky!
I'd end up walking back and shoving it back in my pocket.
My heart raced until I was safely sitting in Mom's Jeep and driving out of the Lucky's parking lot.
Once I came home, I realized I'd never be able to wear the polish without having to give Mom an explanation.
After much thought, a shitload of remorse, and the oncoming holidays, I decided to gift it to my then BFF.
She loved it... and I'd die a little more inside each time I'd see her wearing the shade.
Grrrr!
Those were the only occasions I could recall ever stealing anything. I always felt too guilty about pocketing anything, especially since I caught on almost immediately that it was usually expected of me to be into stealing shit. Stupid workers would always be watching Mom and us like fucking hawks. They still do it whenever I enter any sotre, and it has to be one of my TOP pet peeves. It's repulsive.
Anyway, once I noticed that, I became hellbent on NEVER living up to that stereotype.
Steal only two minor things in my entire life? Not bad.
Then today I walked into D's room, and I saw a book.
Me: Oh wow... you, reading Albert Camus?
(I know it sounds snotty of me, but see, my sister only reads shit by Nicholas Sparks. It frustrates the FUCK out of me, especially once they make a new movie out of one of his books and she tries suckering me into watching it. Let me guess... someone DIES in it! God, it irritates me)
D: I found it stashed in your stuff... I decided to read it.
I looked at the book, confused as hell.
Me: The Fall? What the hell... I never purchased this!
I looked through the book... and found my middle school bookmark (yeah, I remember what it looked like. It had drawings of Bugs Bunny, Marvin the Martian, and the Tasmanian Devil. I chopped off the top cartoon in a fit of rage--what else is new?-- and would bite the bottom left end of the bookmark when I was bored)... then the stamp of my middle school in the back page of the book.
Fuck, man... I had a problem! I don't even remember jacking this shit. What middle schooler jacks an Albert Camus book? What kind of fucking weirdo does that?
So yeah, there you have it... balloons, nail polish... and Albert Camus.
Way to condemn myself.
I've stolen:
1. A pack of water balloons that were shaped like the cartoon heads of animals.
I still remember they were different colors... and the animals that stick out most to me are a cat, a dog, and a mouse. They had faces painted on them.
I was about three, my brother was about four. Mom and Dad refused to buy us the pack... so I kept a look out while brother stuffed the baggie in his pant pocket.
Mom caught us playing with the balloons once we got home. She called us over to have a talk with Dad... and then they scared us into thinking DAD was going to go to jail because of what WE stole. Rafa and I started to cry and apologize repeatedly as we handed over the balloons.
What a fucking traumatic way to teach us a lesson... but I guess it was better than getting spanked... that shit always sucked.
You might think being three is too young for someone to remember... but trust me... I remember some of the weirdest shit... and this is certainly one of those lucky memories, because I've never felt SO guilty.
I'm sure it's partly to blame for my aversion of balloons. Blaaaaah!
2. Dark blue Wet n' Wild nail polish.
It was 99 cents, but Mom refused to buy it for me because "those dark color are only worn by Satanists!" A thought she firmly held until 2007, when I finally said "fuck it!" purchased some black nail polish, and applied it while waiting for a study session to begin.
Anyway, this day I was probably in 6th grade, Mom had forced me into accompanying her to the grocery store, I was feeling rebellious, and I grabbed the polish.
I was having severe bouts with my conscience as Mom continued to shop around. I'd take the nail polish out of my pocket and place it on a shelf... then I'd start walking away.
But I waaaaaant it! It looks like the night sky!
I'd end up walking back and shoving it back in my pocket.
My heart raced until I was safely sitting in Mom's Jeep and driving out of the Lucky's parking lot.
Once I came home, I realized I'd never be able to wear the polish without having to give Mom an explanation.
After much thought, a shitload of remorse, and the oncoming holidays, I decided to gift it to my then BFF.
She loved it... and I'd die a little more inside each time I'd see her wearing the shade.
Grrrr!
Those were the only occasions I could recall ever stealing anything. I always felt too guilty about pocketing anything, especially since I caught on almost immediately that it was usually expected of me to be into stealing shit. Stupid workers would always be watching Mom and us like fucking hawks. They still do it whenever I enter any sotre, and it has to be one of my TOP pet peeves. It's repulsive.
Anyway, once I noticed that, I became hellbent on NEVER living up to that stereotype.
Steal only two minor things in my entire life? Not bad.
Then today I walked into D's room, and I saw a book.
Me: Oh wow... you, reading Albert Camus?
(I know it sounds snotty of me, but see, my sister only reads shit by Nicholas Sparks. It frustrates the FUCK out of me, especially once they make a new movie out of one of his books and she tries suckering me into watching it. Let me guess... someone DIES in it! God, it irritates me)
D: I found it stashed in your stuff... I decided to read it.
I looked at the book, confused as hell.
Me: The Fall? What the hell... I never purchased this!
I looked through the book... and found my middle school bookmark (yeah, I remember what it looked like. It had drawings of Bugs Bunny, Marvin the Martian, and the Tasmanian Devil. I chopped off the top cartoon in a fit of rage--what else is new?-- and would bite the bottom left end of the bookmark when I was bored)... then the stamp of my middle school in the back page of the book.
Fuck, man... I had a problem! I don't even remember jacking this shit. What middle schooler jacks an Albert Camus book? What kind of fucking weirdo does that?
So yeah, there you have it... balloons, nail polish... and Albert Camus.
Way to condemn myself.
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