Epiphany

Spent this weekend looking through some family photo albums and had a bit of a breakthrough.

I'm pretty sure that my various character flaws and general failure at adult life can be attributed to the fact that my mother used to dress me up like Prince.



Twenty years later and I still can't listen to Purple Rain without screaming and clawing at the invisible lace cravat around my neck.

Any psychologists care to weigh in?