I was born into the Witness Protection Program so the details of my childhood have been kept from me for my own safety. I was released when it was discovered that I was never in any real danger at all. I was turned out into the street with a written apology, a pat on the head and a detailed invoice payable to the FBI for all that protection I never even needed. Talk about being behind before you even begin.
Actually, I was recently paroled from a 15-year sentence in an office cube. It was a fortunate occurrence if you consider all the time I wasted wishing the window directly behind me could open. I grieved for about 5 seconds before going to my attic to find the paint brushes I remember being so fond of in college. They were a tad dusty and a little more than “slightly miffed” due to my neglect. It seems they forgave me after I introduced them to the shiny new tubes of paint I had purchased just for them. Now our days are spent in joyful anticipation of the challenges each new blank canvas presents.
Except for the part about having a sketchy childhood, the first bit was a complete fabrication. I couldn’t resist.