Henry wants you all to know...
My head is made of poop. I smell worse than garbage. Although my head is made of poop, my son wishes to poop on my head, which is poopy. Or else he will poop on my butt. Which, incidentally, is smelly. I should also mention that my son hates me. It's perfectly reasonable that he hates me, as in only the past few days I have reminded him to wash his hands, told him I had no money for an ice cream sandwich, and asked him which movie we should watch. All of these actions are unforgiveable. I know that now. And thanks to his lengthy, and at times deafening, explanation, I see that the reason is my giant feces-head, which is awkwardly propped up here on my neck. It's amazing that I can even type or think or have any opinions about ice cream sandwiches, but nevertheless I do, and this renders me loathsome. I am a bad mommy, and he doesn't like me anymore, well, he does, but more importantly he hates me. Let's just say that his feelings for me grow increasingly more complex. But he consistently feels that my head is, as I have mentioned, poopy.
Let's all hope that my behavior improves in the near future.










August 1, 2007
Reader Comments (75)
http://www.theonion.com/content/opinion/adults_have_misclassified_me_as
I like you. You make me laugh.
Which is impressive, because I don't usually think of poop as having much of a sense of humor.
The nerve of you asking which movie he would prefer to watch! tsk tsk. Perhaps his assessment is not so far off?
Hansel is now 5 (OMG!) and likes to sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Poopie. Over. And over. And over.
It's true! Along with any word that has the word "eyeball" or "underwear" attached to it. I SWEAR!
Henry may like the song my son sings - to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle:
"Poo Poo Wee Wee Sick and Blood"
Very gifted, I'm sure you'll agree
Pantyhose are up there, but I thought I'd always have those silky slips. Who wears a slip these days? Sheesh.
And thank goodness we don't have sanitary napkin garters anymore. I have unopened packages of those.