Tinkerbell, bitches

At dinner, a 6th grade girl told me I’m “just like Tinkerbell.”

By “just like Tinkerbell” she meant my hair was in a bun. I apparently gave her too much credit for imagination.

I looked at her mother, my friend, and snorted, “Sure, if Tinkerbell gained a couple hundred pounds, and was all surly and middle aged bitching about Peter hanging out with a bunch of pre-pubescent boy children. Who the hell does he think he his?! I believe I can fly my fairy ass.”

However as we left the restaurant, we started to remember that Tinkerbell was constantly defying Peter, pulling pranks, and talking crap about Wendy. I’m pretty sure she called Wendy fat, and she definitely had the Lost Boys shoot Wendy.

Maybe the kid was on to something. Earlier I told her there were monsters under her bed;and she got this horrified, but exhilarated look on her face. Like Tinkerbell, I probably shouldn’t be trusted by children.

Yea, I’m like Tinkerbell.

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