I don’t know who Mylie Cyrus is. Why would I? I’m not a ten-year-old girl nor do I have one living in my house. What I know about her, was thrust upon me by my home page browser which recently announced (cue trumpets) – she is writing her memoirs.
I leaned into the computer screen to get a closer look at this Mylie person. It turns out that she is 15. I’m sure she’s a remarkable young lady and all having worked so hard at being born to someone semi-famous, but really, what memories and wisdom can one have possibly accumulated at age 15?
Here’s an example of what my memoir at age 15 would look like:
I was born. Nothing happened until I was two.
When I was two I discovered that my brothers hate me. Their lives were ruined the day I was born. I had found my purpose in life.
Age 3-5: The Stupid Years With A Side Of Brothers. During these golden years, I spent most of my time imitating the stupid stuff my brothers were doing like jumping bikes off homemade ramps and seeing how long you could hold a firecracker before it went off. Sometimes I made up my own stupid stuff which usually involved the creative use of scissors.
Age 6-9: The Stupid Years With A Side of Barbie
These years mostly consisted of playing Barbie and fighting and making up with my two neighborhood friends Kim and Cheryl. When I wasn’t fighting and making up with Kim and Cheryl, I was fighting and not making up with my brothers. It was during this time that I made my brother Jim so mad he threw a wrench and hit me squarely on the nose, which come to think of it, kind of explains a few things. During these years, I spent most of my intellectual property wondering if the nuns wore underwear.
Age 10-15: The Stupid Years With A Side of Puberty
Take one artsy, highly sensitive young girl and throw in a surge of estrogen and you’ve got enough stupid to write a book. Hey maybe that’s where Mylie got the idea.
Age 48 and Beyond: Still stupid after all these years, but now with a baby on my hip.