It’s Wicked Wednesday again!
As a child, I thought my mother was a witch. Honestly, and truly. And I mean this in the nicest way possible.
At age 8, I got hugely into Harry Potter, and obsession which has never ceased to rule my life ever since. It was all I could talk about, or think about, and even now none of that has changed.
My mum would play games with me, and they would be Harry Potter themed, as would my birthday cake, any gifts I got, and any costume I might wear to just about anything.
My mum gave me whatever she thought might be fun for me to play with, because she was always good like that. One such item, with regard to the whole Harry Potter obsession, was a cauldron.
That’s right, a little gold cauldron, with a black handle. It was quite old, and was very nice, perfectly magical and rustic looking. But who just has a cauldron? Who keeps cauldrons just lying around?
I think I legitimately thought that my mother had been to Hogwarts, and was a witch. It was the only possible explanation for the cauldron owning.
In turn, I must have thought that I was a squib, and that she’d decided not to tell me, sparing my feelings until I was old enough to handle the information. She’s still not said anything about magic. But then again, maybe she still doesn’t think I’m ready. I’d promise to keep you updated on my possible magical heritage (which I’m still a little bit sure exists), but I wouldn’t want to break the international statute of secrecy.