Oh, well damn, I remember pretending to be a mad scientist and playing with my mom's expensive perfume (which meant nothing to me) going MUHAHAHA with this potion I will take over the world.
It got me beat up.
Oops.
Next thing: Jean Naté perfume. I am so glamorous and beautiful - spray here and spray there, until the whole apartment stank.
That was when I gave up on perfume.
I literally cannot stand it now.
Then I would pretend I was a ballet dancer. I couldn't dance for shit but in my mind I was a prima ballerina. Until I broke my ankle. Oops.
Then I would skate on the kitchen floor and pretend I was an ice skater. You know, with socks.
A miracle: When I was in first grade, I started playing with shit (not literally - just weird, thick paint) and fantasizing about god knows what, and next thing I knew, the teacher was screaming at me, and I looked down on my shirt and asked, "How did that happen?" I literally had no idea. I still have no idea. That got me beat up because everyone thought I was lying.
Then I would be on the playground and had imaginary discussions with historical figures. Yeah.
Ran up the slide away from the Germans. THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!! ***throws herself on the tire thingy***
I would have creative ideas for projects, but couldn't implement them, so my art projects looked like some cat crap you would find in a modern 'art' museum.
Oh sweet Jesus. I have a million such stories. And the great thing about Ramona was everyone thought it was cute and cuddly and not a pain in the ass.