Xavier Roberts was my hero.
I've just spent the past half hour texting with my sister about Baby Jeffrey and how I was a complete asshole even as a toddler (Are 3 year olds considered toddlers? I'm never clear about things like that.).
Who is Baby Jeffery, you ask? (Or maybe you didn't. I don't care. I'm gonna tell you anyway)
Baby Jeffery was my Cabbage Patch doll. I loved that little fucker. He was awesome, with his curly brown hair, adorable little buck tooth and tattooed ass. Pretty much every waking moment of my 3 year old existence was spent in his glorious presence. My sleeping moments would have been spent in his presence as well but my mom had a strict "no toys in the bed" rule. Clearly she failed to grasp that Baby Jeffery was no mere toy; he was the little brother I begged for and was continuously denied by my hateful, evil parents. So, since my mother was overly dense and worthy of pity and scorn, she made Baby Jeffery sleep in the closet.
THE CLOSET.
Savagery.
The only waking hours that weren't spent in Baby Jeffery's presence were the ones in which I was at daycare/preschool. My mom was a stay-at-home mom but she sent me to preschool 3 afternoons a week for socialization or some such nonsense. Apparently my "attachment" to Baby Jeffery was "worrisome" so she and my dad decided that I needed to be around other, you know, live children. I was not really a fan of this. I wanted to be at home, with Baby Jeffery, coloring and eating play-doh. Like a normal kid. So I set out to make them regret the decision to separate me from my adorable baby brother.
And here we have the "Jenny was a vindictive asshole of a child" part:
One day my mom comes to pick me up from preschool and is met by my teacher, a police officer and a nice lady from Child Protective Services. And is denied access to me. Obviously, she was perplexed. (Not to mention pissed and scared. Whatever. They weren't ever really going to take me away.) They started asking her questions about our home life and eventually came around to the subject of Baby Jeffery. They wanted to know where he was. Why he wasn't with her. Why she never mentioned him. Why she didn't have a car seat or other appropriate baby paraphernalia.
Apparently, I told everyone at school about my awesome baby brother Jeffery and how my momma didn't love him and made him live in the closet.
I neglected to mention the he was a Cabbage Patch doll.
Oops?
Ah, memory lane. Good times.
Maybe not so much for my mom, though.
Who is Baby Jeffery, you ask? (Or maybe you didn't. I don't care. I'm gonna tell you anyway)
Baby Jeffery was my Cabbage Patch doll. I loved that little fucker. He was awesome, with his curly brown hair, adorable little buck tooth and tattooed ass. Pretty much every waking moment of my 3 year old existence was spent in his glorious presence. My sleeping moments would have been spent in his presence as well but my mom had a strict "no toys in the bed" rule. Clearly she failed to grasp that Baby Jeffery was no mere toy; he was the little brother I begged for and was continuously denied by my hateful, evil parents. So, since my mother was overly dense and worthy of pity and scorn, she made Baby Jeffery sleep in the closet.
THE CLOSET.
Savagery.
The only waking hours that weren't spent in Baby Jeffery's presence were the ones in which I was at daycare/preschool. My mom was a stay-at-home mom but she sent me to preschool 3 afternoons a week for socialization or some such nonsense. Apparently my "attachment" to Baby Jeffery was "worrisome" so she and my dad decided that I needed to be around other, you know, live children. I was not really a fan of this. I wanted to be at home, with Baby Jeffery, coloring and eating play-doh. Like a normal kid. So I set out to make them regret the decision to separate me from my adorable baby brother.
And here we have the "Jenny was a vindictive asshole of a child" part:
One day my mom comes to pick me up from preschool and is met by my teacher, a police officer and a nice lady from Child Protective Services. And is denied access to me. Obviously, she was perplexed. (Not to mention pissed and scared. Whatever. They weren't ever really going to take me away.) They started asking her questions about our home life and eventually came around to the subject of Baby Jeffery. They wanted to know where he was. Why he wasn't with her. Why she never mentioned him. Why she didn't have a car seat or other appropriate baby paraphernalia.
Apparently, I told everyone at school about my awesome baby brother Jeffery and how my momma didn't love him and made him live in the closet.
I neglected to mention the he was a Cabbage Patch doll.
Oops?
Ah, memory lane. Good times.
Maybe not so much for my mom, though.