<p>I used to be a mean girl. I guess. </p>
<p>Growing up around millions of cousins who did millions of amazing things, I grew up fast and wanted to grow up faster. I visit my cousins’ schools, hung out with their friends, went to their practices, and picked up a lot of high school/middle school “rules.” </p>
<p>Remember those little girls who wanted to grow up like right now? That was me. I got married in first grade, did makeovers during third, went steady in fourth, had pink hair in 5th (well, I tried with pink crayon melted by a glue gun). I also formed the first clique in my elem. school. </p>
<p>I was the girl who had the first big sleepover, and mailed out Barbie invitations to everyone but you. </p>
<p>I was the girl who picked out the best lunch table, and made you sit on the corner edge, almost falling off. </p>
<p>I was the girl with the Friends Only binder, that only the selected few got to write in. </p>
<p>I was the girl who had the biggest bag of Sourheads, and said “here’s one for you, and you and… oh…well…” you never got one. But I still got an invitation to your birthday party. </p>
<p>I had no clue I was like this, that it was a mean thing. It was an attitude I picked up from my cousins, just the way I ‘naturally’ was, I guess. I didn’t even remember until a year or so ago at a sleepover with some old friends, and someone brought up our elem. school days. </p>
<p>“I remember how mean you were.” </p>
<p>“Me?”</p>