Moms are so tricky

A lot of what I write about has to do with my childhood memories, but you know what? A lot of them probably aren’t true, and I don’t even know it. When I was little, I really wanted to go to Disney world. I probably didn’t know about all of the disgusting and fat people there who have to ride around in motorized wheelchair bc they can’t imagine sacrificing the lap-position that allows them to eat 24/7. So I really wanted to go, and so I told my mom, and then she said, “Oh, you’ve already been.” She showed me a pair Mickey Mouse ears with my name on them, and I was like, “OK, cool.” Fact: I had never been to Disney world. My mom just fucking lied to me because she could. Moms are so tricky. Then there’s this other memory my sister has of riding around the park with my dad on their bikes but it only happened like once. I think my sister caught on a bit earlier than I did because she used to tell stories about "when she was a little girl." She would give these elaborately detailed narratives about this other life, like: "My mom and I used to pick flowers." I would laugh but at the same time I was like, "Yeah, when I went to Disney world..."