Proof that I can hold two opposing ideas in my mind simultaneously.
Do I like the smell of pee? Do I enjoy picking up pieces of poo or scraping channels of packed poo out of my tennis shoe treads with a toothpick? Does it feel good when a “power chewer” clamps his jaws on the middle of my hand when I’m simply trying to break up a vicious, 3 AM fight between two male puppies who both believe they are the Alpha? Does a bear shit in the master bathroom and wipe its ass with Charmin?
When I’m away from home, do I pine for six precious little puppy eyes? Do I adore doggie kisses even when they leave a schmear of shit-smell on my skin? Are MY dogs the cutest fur-babies in the entire known universe? Do I LOVE my dogs?? Does a bear shit in the woods?
You know what sucks worse than that little minion “running” North Korea? Having a flat head.
Apparently, when I was a baby, my mother never turned my ass over, so practically my whole pre-ambulatory life, I lay on my back in my crib or in this crank-up baby swing that had a seat made of turquoise canvas.
According to a news report I recently read, I’m not the only one whose caretakers just left them endlessly lying there while their heads flattened out. The article, entitled, “Nearly half of babies have flat spots, study finds,” does not make me feel any fucking better to know that I’m not alone. Fifty percent of the population don’t have flat heads, and those are the successful people. You don’t see any runway models who spin around and make the crowd gasp because the backs of their heads align perfectly with their necks. Like mine.
And although Donald Trump has gasp-worthy hair, and it seems like part of his brains might be missing, when he turns to the side, he doesn’t look like somebody lopped off the back hemisphere of his skull. Like me.I can’t wear a hat because, in profile, I look like a deck-post. I can’t rock a high ponytail like Jennifer-freaking-Aniston. And when I lie on one of those neck-support pillows that’s supposed to fit snugly in the hollow between the bottom of your skull and your shoulders, I look like someone’s preparing me for CPR.
Even though the study in the article I’ve mentioned was conducted on two-month-old Canadian babies—and who the hell knows what kind of babies they have in a place where there is no “ow” sound—there is at least one American company that manufactures orthotic helmets to reshape a baby’s head before it hardens permanently into the shape of the capital letter D. Like mine.
Unfortunately, the helmets cost thousands of bucks and make your family look like child abusers or hockey freaks. Equally bad, IMHO.
The cheaper option is just to turn the damn baby. I mean, what are you doing that you can’t rotate the baby every hour or so? Even the laziest sumbitches can get up off the couch at the end of every episode of This is Us or Fleabag or Game of Thrones and TURN. THE. BABY.
The Canadian study showed that when their flat heads were not caught in time, the babies’ facial features were also affected. Great! You lazy asses are creating children who are all chainsaw accident in the back and Quasimodo in the front. I hope you are proud. Your children will suffer a lifetime of mediocrity, a hand-to-mouth existence, the failure of all of their hopes and dreams, and no cute hats in their futures.
I now know exactly why I have had limited success and why I have a face that incited my grandmother to say things like, “You’re pretty to me.” Flat head. Thanks. When my grandmother was teaching her own daughter—my mother—all those parenting skills, she might have spent a little less time on left-handed compliments and more time on turning the flat-headed baby.