In reply...

This post is a reply to @felicakes recent blog post which you can read here. At the end, she asks “What’s your life story?”

This is it.

My first memory is from when I was three years old. I remember standing next to my mother in the kitchen as she baked a cake.

When I was five, I used to play “Getting Married” with my best friend M and her friend R. R, being the boy, had to pretend to marry each of us in turn. He gave me my first kiss (it was quite slobbery).

I was eight when I decided that I did in fact like mayonnaise.

When I was nine, my teacher thought there was something wrong with me because I was too quiet. I was made to see a social worker for a year. I think she guessed about Dad.

When I was ten, I was so scared of my father I attempted suicide. I’ve never told anyone about that.

When I was twelve I got my first period. I have hated my uterus ever since.

When I was thirteen and in my first year of high school, I was bullied extremely badly. I wore my hair in a long plait every day and was smart. And I was still a quiet person. This made me the perfect target.

I was fourteen when the creepy old man who lived down the road groped me.

When I was fifteen, I was paranoid that I was fat. Looking back, I realise I actually had a banging body – slim yet athletic, perky C cups (much to the envy of all the girls at high school who were struggling to fill their A cups) and not a speck of cellulite. My how things change….

I was sixteen when I was first kissed by a boy. I thought that because he kissed me he wanted to be my boyfriend. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. Cue my first broken heart.

I was eighteen the last time I saw my high school crush. Then I spotted him eleven years later on MasterChef. I’m 100% certain that he would have no idea who I was if I introduced myself to him again.

When I was twenty-one and living on my own, a man broke into my flat and beat me up pretty badly. I called the police. Then I called again. And again. Then I went to the police station. An officer scribbled down the man’s description and then I was told to go home. They never took an official statement and the man was (obviously) never caught. I get anxious around men when I’m in confined spaces (such as buses).

I married my darling husband when I was twenty-three. We eloped. It did not go down well with the in-laws. So we threw a big party a few weeks later and I think they may have forgiven me. I didn’t get a cake or a wedding present or a white dress. Yes ladies, it IS possible to have a wedding without the big hoopla.

At twenty-eight I realised that I actually did want children. Lots of them. Preferably five. But we’ll see how we cope with one first! ;p

By thirty I hope to be pregnant, bare-foot and pottering about my kitchen.

What’s your life story?