WHY THE F AT CK DID MY MOM LET ME WATCH GREMLINS

Why the fuck did my mum let me watch Gremlins

when I was four years old?

Four.

I couldn’t tie my shoes,

but apparently I was emotionally prepared

for demons exploding in microwaves.

I was still calling everyone “auntie,”

still believed bath time was optional,

and suddenly there’s creatures screaming,

melting, multiplying—

and I’m meant to sleep after this?

In a dark room?

Alone?

With water nearby?

What was the thinking there?

Was it “character building”?

Was it the eighties?

Was she busy?

Why did my mum let me watch Gremlins?

Explain it to me slowly.

I was scared of the hoover,

now I’m scared of rules.

Don’t feed ’em after midnight—

WHAT DOES MIDNIGHT MEAN?

It’s ALWAYS after midnight!

That film rewired my brain permanently.

I remember sitting there,

legs not touching the floor,

watching cute little Gizmo

like, “Aww, I want one!”

Two minutes later—

No, I don’t.

No, I absolutely do not.

That thing got wet and the house went feral.

Suddenly there’s jazz, knives,

and one of ’em’s wearing a trench coat.

Why does he know adult fashion?

Why is he smoking?

Why am I watching this?

This is why I don’t trust adorable things.

This is why I read instructions twice.

Why did my mum let me watch Gremlins?

I was learning shapes that year.

Circle. Square. Trauma.

Every Christmas since,

I still side-eye the tree

like it’s got plans.

You can’t tell me “it’s just a film”

when my nervous system remembers everything.

And here’s the mad part—

she probably thought nothing of it.

Just put the telly on,

made a brew,

assumed I’d be fine.

Meanwhile I’m thirty-something

googling,

“Is Gizmo okay in the end?”

Because part of me

never left that sofa.

This explains a lot, actually.

Why I flinch at surprises.

Why I don’t like things multiplying.

Why I don’t trust cute mascots

with dark energy.

Other kids had bedtime stories.

I had warnings.

Rules.

Consequences.

So yeah—

why the fuck did my mum let me watch Gremlins?

I forgive her, mostly.

But if I jump when the toaster pops,

just know—

that’s on her.

That film didn’t scare me…

It trained me.

Anyway—

love you, Mum.

But that was wildly inappropriate.