The One Uppers Club & The CSI Kid

"40 years old and I've never eaten an Oreo!"

"Well, I'm 45 years old and I've never listened to a single song by ABBA." "Well, I'm 51 years old and I've never tasted Pepsi." "Well, I'm 60 years old and I've never seen the movie Shrek 2." Then they all looked at me, waiting to hear what I'd never done.

“I’m 9 and I never met my mother.” The one-uppers all gasp and make sad noises. “I’m clearly the queen of this pity party! Bow before me, peons.”

“Try again, I don’t even have a mother. I was cloned from crime scene DNA.” The one-uppers are quiet.

“Doesn’t have a mother.” I heard one of them repeat and chuckle. Another one whispered trying to mimic my voice, “Cloned from crime scene DNA.” Laughter permeated the air. “Right… you on drugs or something?”

Why couldn’t I accept it? I wasn’t any less than these CSI bozos. Sure, I was immaculately conceived. Parents are overrated anyway. In all likelihood they were jealous of my recent promotion. Perhaps as chief detective I could unravel a truly great mystery: my own origins.