My glasses have been slipping down my face a lot lately; has my enormous head ballooned even further, like Cristina Ricci on head steroids? Did I go to sleep and wake up as the flesh version of Mr. Mackie? When will children start to point and scream “Mommy, what’s wrong with her FACE?” At what point will I have to wear only clothes that can be buttoned on or slid up over my rear end, lest I take the risk of cutting the bloodflow off to my brain by trying to cram my head through a t-shirt hole? When do I give myself a new name, acknowledging the head spread, like ‘The Screaming Forehead Lady’ or ‘Blobula’? Do I then commission a bobblehead doll in my likeness? Will the head have to be exaggerated further lest I have the only bobblehead figure in the history of time that’s accurately proportioned?
All I know is that my glasses are starting to fracture at the temple. My favorite pair of glasses I’ve ever had, ever. The ones that are completely and utterly discontinued.
WAH WAH WAH.