We were coloring (not drawing) with markers.
Despite the stockpile of crayons in all 96 colors (and more, given the slight variations in color depending on brand), and the fact that the markers were half-dried-up anyway, requiring smaller-than-usual strokes and frequent breaks, like tired workers, that's what she wanted.
I hate markers. I can't even tell you why, exactly. I can speculate that I find them wasteful, or frustrating because they're either too inky or not inky enough; I can admit that I often find myself trying to clean the marker lines that were the continuation of lines made on the page, which found themselves unexpectedly (though too predictably) on the table or the counter.
But I also know that I loved markers when I was a kid, too. Was it because they were contraband? Because my parents hated them, so I had to love them? Because they were bright? Because the color came so easily and could be distributed so evenly with such little effort? Because I marveled at the power of the ink to bleed right through the page? Because of the smell? (Yes, definitely the smell. Especially the Mister Sketch markers scented markers from elementary school art class, which came in 12 different fragrances.)
We're often told that we'll learn to like things as we grow older, as our tastes become more refined. But at what point we decide, as adults, to hate some of the things we loved as children? I don't think it has to do with having children (because I know childless adults who feel the same way I do), but I also can't pinpoint another moment when things changed.
What things do you now hate that you used to love as a child?
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