When I was a kid, I went through a Lego phase. It’s a rite of passage, really – at some point, a family member or friend buys you a Lego set, and so begins your obsession with snapping tiny plastic blocks together.
Unless you stepped on a Lego as a child (never step on a Lego) you likely have fond memories of the building blocks, creating everything from the designated design on your box, to wild creations like a Lego house for the lizard you cruelly captured in the yard. Just me? Surely not…
Because isolation is absolute sheer BOREDOM, and there’s only so many pilates classes I can do in a day before my abs rip to shreds and I internally collapse, I had the brilliant idea of ordering some Lego online.
At first I thought it would just be a brief nostalgic experience I got bored of after fifteen minutes. But there I was, hours later, having revisited the Lego set several times through the day.
PS: this is the Lego set I bought:
It’s called Lego Friends Friendship Bus. YES, it’s for ages 8+. YES, it is Lego’s equivalent of Barbie. YES, it’s fucking phenomenal and everything I was denied as a small child by a mum who was all, go do something with your brain like Scrabble.
Lego now comes in numbered packets, did you know? Maybe it always did. I just remember having a million confusing pieces spilling out of the box and 9-year-old me having to hunt down the tiniest of Legos when the instructions demanded them.
Anyway, the premise of my Lego was this – three best friends who are meant to be teenagers, I think, somehow have the money for a giant fuck-off campervan complete with ALL the fancy trimmings.
The first thing I made was this ADORABLE… something.
It sits outside of the campervan and I have no fucking idea what it is. The second thing I made was one of the teenagers. It involved this demonic entity:
Once I got them together, it was time to work on the actual campervan itself. God bless the Lego masters and their intensive, step-by-step instructions. Somehow they communicate exactly what doo-hickey clicks onto the other doo-hickey, without using any words whatsoever.
See the lil’ camp kitchen? Isn’t it cute? Wouldn’t it be WILDLY EXPENSIVE IN REAL LIFE AND NO TEEN BESTIES COULD POSSIBLY AFFORD IT?
From there, shit got REAL. The bottom finished up within thirty minutes, and involved STICKERS. I forgot how fun it was to add stickers to Lego. Felt wrong, somehow.
It involved a – I shit you not – pull-out pool.
I get that this is a lalalala fantasy fun land where tiny children under 18 can own a campervan that’s nicer than Kylie Jenner’s mansion, but for some reason the pull out pool really offended me deeply.
When I got to the top, I realised these little bitches had OPEN AIR BEDS.
I mean, honestly. But also, COOOOOOOOL.
Here’s the finished product. I was so, so proud of myself.
That’s Chaotic Carla (red hair, seems like she’ll be the first to get a tatt sleeve at 18) and Bitchy Brianna (definitely the Queen Bee sociopath who bullies the others) playing tennis. Yes, tennis.
Here’s Loser Lauren (smartest of the three but also a fucking loser, so) making everyone else coffee because she’s the fucking loser and they made her do it.
In case you’re wondering, yes I started playing with my Lego Friends as soon as I made the set. DER. How could you not? Look at this thing!
The “playing with the Lego” bit lasted about fifteen minutes, though. Sadly, you can’t get back that creative imagination from your childhood. It’s simply LESS fun to create scenarios with tiny plastic dolls as an adult.
But I did enjoy absolutely trainwrecking Bitchy Brianna on the slide.
Am I a psychopath, yes/no.
