You're right. Gay Panda admits it. I've been found out. I never thought it would take this long to be discovered, nor do I find it very chivalrous of you to rub my nose in it. But there you have it, world. Gay Panda stands before you and admits it.
I admit that I poured turpentine on a stained piece of clothing when I was eight because someone told me turpentine removes everything and I'd spilled paint on myself at school. Knowing that Mother Panda was going to be absolutely furious, I stole my brother's container of turpentine and dumped it all over the stain. Then I balled it up and hid it in the back of the toy shelf, where it lived for 18 months. Occasionally I remembered and took it out eagerly to see if the stain was gone. But it was still there, a bright smear of green paint on the light blue fabric, and then I pushed it back into the darkness to give the magic a little longer to do its work. I quaked with fear that Mother Panda might ask after that piece of clothing.
And, 18 months later, she did. Trembling, I confessed that I had gotten paint on it. Followed by a verbal pinwheel of castigation, I was sent to retrieve the offending piece of clothing. It had to be thrown out.
But I never admitted to the turpentine until you found me out, saan356. I'm bewildered as to how you learned my terrible secret, but that is hardly the point. Young Gay Panda poured turpentine on a stained piece of personal wardrobe hidden in the toy shelf for a year and a half hoping it would get rid of a green paint stain. It did not, and I was disappointed.
Now that we've cleared the air of guilt (and the scent of turpentine), I beg you from the bottom of my heart not to reveal any more of my secrets. We've already discussed The Gum Incident at length in this journal, as well as my Rollerskating Down The Staircase Mistake and The Goldfish Resurrection. But I never brought up The Running In The Rain Impulse that nearly got me sent home in fourth grade for being soaked, or that once when I was nine I called my teacher MOM by mistake. I also never brought up The Marshmallow Mishap that ended up with a nasty burn on my hand, or the many, many, MANY times I dreamed about taking the sledgehammer in the shed to my hated musical instrument. The crunch of wood, the snap of string, how I fantasized! And what cruel fate could I visit upon that metronome? DIE.
If you reveal any of those things, saan356, in your vicious quest to expose me, no one will ever come to this journal again. Is that your objective? To keep me from having any social life and press my nose to the grindstone relentlessly so that all I do is write? Well, okay. I did spend a lot of time messing around on MDA yesterday. Touche, my friend. Touche.*
Love and turpentine,
* Yes, darlings, I know there should be a wee little accent thing over the e. But I don't want to figure out how to make it.