I guess I’m supposed to be rolling my eyes more now? To be honest, being 11 doesn’t feel that different than being 10. I still have the same best friends, favorite foods, and favorite movie. (This is an affront, btw, Rotten Tomatoes.) I don’t go around yelling, “I hate you! I wish I’d never been born!” to my mom* and I’m not embarrassed to hold either parent’s hand.
Of course, some things have changed. Here’s a breakdown, complete with visual aids.
Every year (except for when I was 4 and she was a total hot mess), my mom asks me how great my life is on a scale of 1-10. This year, I’m at a solid 8 3/4, but I guess I’ve had better years. Namely, when I was 7, but then again, I also said farting was the meaning of life at that age. Of course, I’ve also had worse. Let’s not even get into age 5 when life was “so bad” that it only rated a 1-2 by George’s estimates.
My taste in music remains eclectic. I wonder how many other playlists include the Mickey Mouse Club and the Misfits?
I’ve had a lot of career goals over the years. The most consistent ones are dentist and teacher, but I think worm still has real potential. It’d certainly be an easier life than cleaning lady or astronaut.
Congrats to Wontons and Tofu & Rice for being 4-peat champions in my favorite foods category.
Not that much has happened since mom was embarrassingly late with my 10-year old update, unless you count being stranded with my family 24/7 due to COVID-19. (Mom and Dad are doing their best though.) I’m really bummed about not being to play soccer or have a real birthday party, but other than that, not too much has changed.
I still had a pretty good birthday, all things considering.
Without further ado, here’s me at age 11:
I hope you enjoyed the special guest appearance by the second funniest person in our house.
Yours in tweendom,
*as of press time