By: C Icart, Staff Writer
Excerpt from my long awaited memoir, Queen of Christmas.
I still remember my first day on the job as a [redacted]. What? My job is none of your business! It was a warm day, the weather was between 20 and 30 degrees. No, I can’t be more precise, or you might look it up. I was so excited to show everyone what I could do. Now, you, reader, will be a lamb and stop being nosy about what I could do. I walked right into that room, in that workplace, and I did that job. I was so proud of myself. Every single one of the unspecified number of people present were blown away. I knew from that day that everyone would know my name. Well, except everyone reading this. Last man on the earth, and they still couldn’t get this information.
My [redacted] approached me afterwards and told me [redacted]. And honestly, they were so right. We went to lunch together to keep discussing and we ate delicious [redacted] What? You want to know what I eat? What’s next? My blood type? My credit card information?
Years later, I still have the [redacted] I wore that day. I keep it in my [redacted] with my [redacted] as a reminder of [redacted]. I know it’s confusing, yo, you’re confused. But I’m confused about why you’re all up in my George Foreman grill. This is a new type of autobiography! Everyday as a part of my morning routine I try it on and show it to [redacted]. Why are you wasting your time on the details? I know how to keep my private life private.
This is truly a story I thought I would never tell. But this far into my career, I want to let up and coming [redacted] know what my experience was like. Everyone thinks they know me but they don’t. In fact, I see you using this memoir to learn more about me! In fact, I’m seeing right through you like you’re bathing in Windex.
Being open is so freeing. No more secrets! I want people to know everything, except it’s a little silly that you would want to right? Anyways, that’s the story about how I [redacted] with [redacted] despite [redacted]. Don’t judge me! I’m not trying to commit a memoir faux pas. We should all know less about each other . . . right?
