A Pretty Long History of Personal Humiliation

❤️ My lovely and talented daughter Hannah!

Adulthood is Terriffying

Back in elementary school, 94% of the time I spent with my friends was occupied by dressing up as and/or pretending to be theSpice Girls(it was the late ’90s and I was 12, okay??!).

I always wanted to be Scary Spice, the “wacky black one,” who I related to on account of her wackiness, and whose blackness didn’t really seem like a good enough reason to disqualify me from playing her inliving room reenactments of scenes fromSpice World.

My friends never reacted the way 12-year-olds pretending to be sexy British pop stars seemed like they should react when I volunteered to be Scary Spice. And by that I mean, they didn’t giggleand/or throw up a peace sign and/or pop on a British accent for a forced “Girl powah!”

There was something discernibly awkward about the laughter from the visibly uncomfortable psudeo-Spices around me. Or at least,I felt

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