My friend Neena over at Hooey!Critic gave me the idea for tonight's blog topic. Her child's imaginary friend, Kevin, has much more personality than mine did. Or perhaps Kevin is just fresh in someone's memory, and mine.....not so fresh.
My imaginary friend was named Honey. Some of the stories about Honey are ones I've heard my family members tell; I don't remember her that clearly.
I do remember that Honey went everywhere with me (duh), and my mother had to set an extra plate at the table for her. That was pretty accommodating of Mom, since she already had 7 places to set as it was. Or maybe the attitude was, "What the hell, what's one more?"
I suppose everyone grows out of imaginary friends at some point. Maybe it's then that we start talking to ourselves; we just don't bother pretending that it's an imaginary friend anymore.
I couldn't just grow out of Honey, though. I couldn't do the absolutely normal thing and wake up one morning with the knowledge that I didn't need Honey anymore. Apparently I couldn't make the decision on my own, for fear of rejecting Honey and damaging her fragile self-esteem and creating the need for her to seek therapy in her adulthood.
I came inside from playing (what else would a fifteen year old have to do? Just kidding, I think I was around five) and let the screen door slam behind me. It apparently created a stir when I didn't hold the door open to allow Honey to enter.
"Where's Honey?" someone asked.
"She got run over by a car."
Apparently I wasn't a very good guardian even back then.