winter slump

I still can’t seem to get that plaster out of my mouth, but I can talk more coherently now. I was complaining to Mom today that my bath towel kept turning into a giant sponge. Mom just told me to go jump over a candlestick. Then she made fun of my robe and how the sponge towel was wrapped around my head, saying “You can wear that to school on Middle East day.” Little does she know my robe and towel happen to be the latest fashion trend from the Parisian dumpsters, and I have every intention of wearing that ensemble to school.

I stormed into the living room, where Dad was doing arm curls with a piece of firewood. After he strained his back, Mom gave him an “I told you so” slap in the face, and to vent his feelings he started pinching my cheek like a maniac. I told him to stop and he said, “Call me a maniac one more time and this cheek comes off and goes into my mouth.”

“Stop making fun of me, you badly-dressed weasel!” I screamed.

“She has no taste in clothes, honey,” Dad said to Mom.

“Maybe she hasn’t tasted enough clothes to be able to distinguish,” said Mom, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s feed her.”

Then my parents changed their minds and once again decided to eat me for a snack.

“Not with my turban,” I pleaded.

“Go get the pepper, honey,” Mom told Dad. “We’re going to have a feast. I’ll toss her in the fire.”

After they tasted me and whined that I tasted like cafeteria water, they decided to make me smile through my flute instead, while they sang, “One hundred gospel greats on the wall, one hundred gospel greats, sing one badly, drive people madly . . . .” Aargh! I still have that in my head!

Later I bit my tongue so hard while trying to pull a s’more apart that I cried.

While typing this up, the two halves of my brain have been fighting with each other.

Right Brain: I rule because I revel in mushy love.
Left Brain: I rule because I can calculate my superiority.

They both shut up once I turned on my new blow dryer. It’s so strong it can shove my mouth to one side.