Where are the bold men and women on the marketing committee who will stand up and say, “I don’t care if you think I’m a pervert for noticing, but those sippy belong in a novelty shop, not a nursery school.â€
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I have long forgiven my parents for dressing me like a miniature golf caddy from the 18th century, but I know the adverse effects still linger somewhere in my psyche.
My goal was always to be as quiet as possible. They needed to remember in the morning that I had satisfied the requirements of our arrangement, but I wanted drowsiness to prevent them from focusing too much on the exact time of my arrival.
At least when your uncle tries to pull a tooth that’s not ready, the pain is temporary, and you know who to blame. I’m still waiting to find money under my pillow for all the other bloody noses and ugly heartbreaks. I should have racked up at least a couple million bucks by now. I have a hunch that I’m the only one keeping track.
I came out of those sex ed classes thinking that line drawings of women’s internal architecture looked like something that would grow on the ocean floor, something that looked like a vegetable but was carniverous.
The 6th grade was a bad year for me. I hated middle school in general. Even though I went to a public elementary school, my arrival at a private Christian middle school in the 5th grade signified my miseducation in matters pertaining to sex, girls, profanity, cruelty, ostracism, tribalism, sarcasm, and all the other -isms […]
Our tiny bums were like creme-colored hillocks skewered by a radio tower.
Mitch and Donald Duck have a nasty encounter with the Banana Fo Fana rhyme.
My genius as a child consisted not only of my proclivity for revolutionary ideas but also of my knack for identifying and nurturing the brilliant ideas of others. When Will Burton came over to play and suggested that we throw all of my younger sister’s dolls into the Little Harpeth River, I knew he was […]