I can point to many reasons why I’m a little “off” at times. Lack of social skills, fear of small animals and an unexplained anger toward anything purple are just a few of my quirks. After years of trying to explain myself, I’ve decided to blame the stories I was read as a child.
Martha Matilda O’Toole: A little girl goes to school completely naked. However, people remind her she forgot her pen, her shoes, her books, etc. It’s not until the end of the story they mention she’s not wearing a dress. Freakin’ perverts.
(Moral: Don’t trust your neighbors. They’re probably pedophiles.)
The Five Chinese Brothers: This nightmare-inducing story taught me there are lots of horrible ways to be executed. I personally would have chosen to be smothered in whipped cream. I figured I’d just eat my way out.
Millions of Cats: Lesson learned from this book: Cats can never, never be trusted. If they eat each other, they will eat you.
Caps for Sale: Lesson learned from this book: Monkeys can never, never be trusted. They will eat you. I mean, they will steal from you. And probably eat you, too.
Madeline: The only time I considered living in a convent was when I read about this little girl being raised by nuns in Paris. It also made me want to get my appendix out. (Still have my appendix.)
Pierre: A Cautionary Tale in Five Chapters and a Prologue: In this fable, Pierre just doesn’t give a shit about anything. Until a lion eats him. (Another reason for me to fear mammals.) My sisters and I would act this story out as a play. Pierre basically had one line: “I don’t care.” Nailed it!
The Little Engine That Could: This feisty little, blue engine just knew he could do whatever he set his mind to accomplish. Yeah. More bullshit we try to sell to kids.