Today is Unicorn Appreciation Day, proclaimed by my friend Goldfish. Since I can’t draw worth a shit, here is a unicorn story from my youth instead.

When I was a young girl, I got to see The Living Unicorn at the Ringling Bros and Barnum and Bailey Circus.

The small print says 1985, so I was 11.

We went often to The Greatest Show On Earth as kids. Sadly, I’ve never been much of a fan of the circus due to my aversion to the odor of elephant shit, but I remember this particular trip vividly.

Because I truly believed that it was a real unicorn. Why would anybody lie about something that awesome? I had unicorns everywhere, in my sticker album, on my Trapper Keeper, a couple of stuffed unicorns and one of my favorite movies was “The Last Unicorn.”

Boy did I love this flick. 

I remember my parents bought me a LU button, which didn’t happen often because cheaply made trinkets cost an arm and a leg. I think that my parents knew just how special seeing her was to me. (Unicorns are always female in my mind.)

That is the beauty of being young, isn’t it? You don’t question things, you just accept them for what they are.

Naysayers will say that The Living Unicorn was just a painted pony with a horn somehow adhered to it. Although that’s probably true, I’d rather keep on believing that she was real.

Because it makes me feel all glittery inside.

 

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