To preserve the Kool-Aid labels, I would wrap them in packing tape. It was my poor girl’s attempt to laminate them so I could keep them forever.
I kept the labels in an old pearl-colored wallet my grandma had passed down to us girls. I hid the wallet in my yellow milk crate under my bed, sure that my sister Shelli would try to steal the wallet if she knew how wonderful its contents were. I never took the wallet to school, positive that if the other kids saw my Kool-Aid label collection, they would try to copy me and follow suit. I didn’t want that; I was an original. No copies are necessary.
Looking back, I realize that yes, I always was quite original. No, other kids didn’t try to copy me. I always knew I was cool – you know – in the way that you are truly unique an no one else is going to look, act, or dress like you. But in retrospect, I think my uniqueness was grounds for therapy sessions in practices of young hoarders and social awkwardness.
Tata for now.
P.S. I think I would have been a “cooler” kid if I’d dyed my hair with Kool-Aid. Oops! Too late!