Bleach Nostalgia

I’m always amazed how a smell can instantly take you back to an exact moment in your life. At this point I basically have a smell to memory rolodex in my head. Today while doing laundry a whiff of bleach took me back to grammar school.

The bleach took me back to when a girl named Celeste threw bleach on my favorite jeans. I was doing laundry. I've been doing laundry, alone, since the building block days. I can still remember those jeans, dark blue with orange trimming. I can’t completely recall our dispute but I do think the attack was unprovoked. Maybe she was just trying to help me write a blog for my blog-a-thon 28 years in advance. That Celeste wasn’t a mean older petty bully. No, she was a visionary helping me tap into my inner writer.

The main lesson learned was not to wear my good jeans while doing laundry. (Today I wore some ragged shorts to the laundry room.)

Kids can be so cruel but Brooklyn kid cruelty skews a little …well…crueler than most places. I would have much rather just been given cooties. Even a wedgie would have been preferable over destroying by favorite pants, when I only had 5 pair to begin with.

Brooklyn…we go hard…we go hard.