That's Not Chocolate....aka: The Story of Why I'm Not Black

This may come as a shock to you, but once upon a time, I was a very sweet and innocent little girl.
(pause for laughter to stop)

No, seriously. I was.

I was born on a Thursday morning. Really fucking early. None of this is relevant. What is relevant however, is that I was born with a birthmark on my left upper arm. This small brown circle has caused so much issue in my life, its actually rather ridiculous. We will stick to the point here and discuss the important fact, of how it's really not chocolate. And why I am not black.
 When I was born, my parents were very young. I lived with my mom and my beloved Nana for the first few years of my life. During which time, I spent alot of time visiting Nana at her work. I was the life of the party (much as I am now) and everyone loved playing with me and pretending I was their pseudo-grandchild. I went from desk to desk making friends and generally annoying the shit out of people. But I was a little pigtailed angel and so they let it slide.

There was one particular guy there, who took a liking to me. He was a large African-American fellow. He let me play with all the cool shit in the receiving dock, and didn't yell at me when I ran around, so he was awesome in my 3 year old mind. I always liked hanging out with him.

One day, I marched up to Nana and sat down with a quizzical look on my face. She asked me what was on my mind. I looked up at her with wide, green, cherubic eyes and said "Nana, why do I have this birthmark on my arm?"  Nana was clearly taken aback, and having not prepared to answer this sort of question, she did what any good Nana would do. She made some shit up. "Well, Rosebud" she said, "God made you black. But then he realized that he made a mistake. You were going to be born to a white family...so he took out his big eraser, and he erased you to make you white. But he left that one spot there, to let you know that you are a very special girl".

A little while later, I came back into the room. This time in hysterical tears. Nana immediately asked what was wrong. I quivered my pouty little lips, tears streaming down my face and wailed "I WANNA BE BLACK!!!!"

Just call me Beyoncé

Years later, I was home from college for the holidays, sitting on the floor coloring with my young cousin. She was four or five at the time, and had the same wide-eyed innocence. She spotted the birthmark on my arm, and after staring at it for a few minutes, did the normal kid thing of loudly asking what the hell it was. My mom jumped on the opportunity and said "It's a birthmark. It's made of chocolate!"

My mom chuckled at her own humor and went about making dinner. I rolled my eyes and continued coloring the picture Id been working on. Cause I am badass like that. A few seconds later, I feel something wet and slimy on my arm. I look over to see my cousin in MID LICK. She immediately made a face of disgust and said "Blechh. It doesn't TASTE like chocolate". That will teach mom to try to be a comedian.

After years of therapy and identity crises, I have finally accepted that I was never meant to be black. Nor am I made of chocolate.  I'm just a white girl with a ghetto booty.