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?<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
WAH WAH WAH.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"