I was not a cute child

Musing about Cairo in my last post led me to take a trip down memory lane via the scrapbook my mother put together from our time in Egypt. Witness, friends, the horror of my youth.

The tragically oversized glasses, the ‘Hard Rock Cafe Cairo’ shirt I stole from Edward, the manic gleam in the eyes, as if to say: ‘per aspera ad astra!’

Then there is the photo of me sitting imperiously on an obelisk, terrorizing our ill-informed tour guide Hani. I’ve added that to the previous entry, where it makes more sense.

But the crowning glory of my discoveries was this spreadsheet which I made for my family to study during the trip. This raises a number of questions: did I have any friends in elementary school? Did anyone in my family ever read it? Did the Egyptians really have a God for moisture?

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One thought on “I was not a cute child”

  1. I beg to differ:
    You were a gorgeous child, you had a gaggle of friends and you inspired your fellow travelers with stories of that particular neck of the woods.

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