Went to visit family in town, ended up on the Backstreet Boys Instagram. (The one holding a Starbucks cup, naturally.)
Eight year-old me is dancing in place, unable to speak through all the excitement. Followed by a hand on the hip, inquisitive glance to my twenty-something self, “You didn’t see The Backstreet Boys because you went to a play instead? … Is Jim Carrey in it?”
If we’re being real, though: Reading an announcement in the newspaper about the Backstreet Boys coming to town way back in the ’90s was the first time I ever realized groups like that had a whole touring crew, and if an awkward, incredibly shy little kid in Orange County could ever do something like that.
From my twenty-something self to that eight year-old: Not bad, kid. Not bad.
(Blanked out a bullying remark caught in the comments, ‘cause ain’t nobody got time for that.)