Despite later developing a gross dislike for blood, when I came down one morning with my family to go into the kitchen (where the dog slept at night) and found the floor spotted with droplets of blood, I was fascinated.

"Hey, mum! Why the fuck has the dog bled all over the floor?" I demanded - albeit in the equivalent language a four-year-old would use in this situation; something more akin to, "Why's the dog bleeding?"

Now, between the vague explanation offered and my mind processing it into understandable information, something went awry somewhere. What had been explained to me was, "It means Jade can have puppies." My exciteable four-year-old brain honed in on specific words and decided to actually record the presence of droplets of blood as meaning, "Jade is having puppies."

So when school rolled around and we had to tell some personal news one-by-one in the class, I presented this information proudly, eagerly anticipating a million, or possibly a million billion puppies scampering around the house 101 Dalmations-style.

"Are you sure it means she's having puppies?" my teacher asked, knowing better. I responded that I was sure, of course.

This was thrown into doubt as, not only did the puppies never show up in the eleven years we had the dog, but at other random times, more droplets of blood would be spattered over the floor in the mornings. Then, years later, I learned of these things called periods, realised I had learnt wrong, and promptly felt like a massive twat.

Still, I was four years old, so it's understandable. I mean, kids are fucking idiots.