This week at my....

....writing class, we were given a new assignment. We had to imagine we were a 14 year old girl who, as part of a school assigment, had to write a will.

Now, I altered the assignment slightly. Because, the sad part is, I in fact did write my will. Only as an 8 year old. Or at least some semblance of what I thought a will should be. What can I say, I had some morbid, messed up moments as a kid.

Step one was to assemble a list of people I thought should be at my funeral. As if it were some sort of exclusive, albeit macabre, VIP nightclub.

"Sorry, not on the list? Yeah, you can't come in."

A red star beside your name meant you had been denoted as worthy enough to get up and make a speech about me. Nothing like an inflated sense of self-worth. For a pre-teen I must have had quite a healthy ego. I indicated that my preference was a pink marble tombstone, embedded with glittering crystals. (These are the types of things I thought would logically be included in one's will.)

Regarding the distribution of my worldy assets....most importantly, my Barbie collection could not be sold for at least 10 years, or until it had accrued it's, no doubt, astronomical value. My little brother could keep the fortune that would surely be made from this sale.

I never got around to working on the playlist for my memorial service. But I should. That's not a task I could trust just anyone to do. At least not without a little insight from the guest of honour.

I only have 2 more weeks of my writing class left. Hopefully these last 2 classes will inspire some more of my riveting childhood memories such as this. We can always hope.

Have a fabulous weekend everyone!