This was the subject line, “NOTICE TO PARENTS: PLEASE CHECK YOUR CHILD’S HAIR!” The first line of the email read, “Dear Parents, we have at least one confirmed case of head lice in our classroom….” It then went on to explain the symptoms, treatment, and life cycle of head lice, but I didn’t even finish the first sentence before I went on complete and total mental lock down. It’s for my own good…trust me.
Dear Teacher, I am NOT checking my child’s hair for head lice, because my child does NOT have head lice. It will never happen, not on my watch, and if it does, I want to be kept in the dark about it. Are we clear? Here’s something more…I will pack a bag and leave the house before I will pick “nits” out of my children’s hair 5 times a day. Sorry kids, I love you, but I do not love microscopic brownish colored insects that live and lay eggs on your scalp. You’re on your own with that one. Mommy loves you. I’ll write you a letter.
Call me insensitive, or irrational, or any other related term, but the fact is…you do NOT understand. I clean and organize shit on a daily basis that doesn’t need to be cleaned and/or organized. My annual purchases of hand sanitizing wipes alone could keep the hand sanitizing company in business for years to come. I would like to take this opportunity to declare to all of the hand sanitizing wipe businesses out there, “You’re welcome.”
When I decided to quit my job, my co-workers gave me several silly parting gifts. Among them were hand sanitizer and disinfecting gloves. Haha…good one. If they only knew. We would frequently have potlucks at work and I could not participate. There was once a community bowl of Skittles in the break room just sitting there for the taking…taunting me with their beautiful and delicious rainbow sugary coating and soft and chewy middles. Fuck you community bowl of Skittles. I love you, but I can’t for the life of me reach into your germ infested bowl and eat you. I’ll never forget the look on my friend’s face. (Sincere best friend sympathy at its best.) With a very heavy heart, she looked up at me and said, “Ohhhh Jilly…you can’t do it, can you?” Heavy sigh…“No, I cannot.” But she did. What a bitch.
I fully recognize that my behavior is not normal. I have a problem. It’s my brain. An even bigger problem is that I can’t get a new one. I have looked. You can buy anything online these days…breast milk, sperm, drugs, a spouse…but sadly for me, not a new brain. I intend to be the first one ever to put my brain up for sale on the internet.
Wanted: Brain Buyer
Description of product: On the outside, I look like a normal brain…squishy and gray on the outside and full of white, less squishy stuff on the inside. If you’re concerned with appearances, no need to worry…I look the part.
Warning: If you’re looking for a normal (i.e. boring) brain, then you should cut your losses and move on. Seriously…I don’t have time for this.
Features: the ability to function at a level that will make you unable to accept anything but perfection. Whether it be folding socks, thorough hand washing, or having a pristine appreciation for all environmental geometric lines…I am the best. I am never satisfied. I am a winner. You want to be a winner, right? No one likes a loser…or a quitter. I am neither.
Possible side effects may include: inability to eat at “Old Country Buffet” for the rest of your life, decreased occurrence of the common cold and/or other highly contagious diseases (because of the rigorous hand washing), occasional and/or very frequent binge drinking, dry mouth (kidding), sudden death (kidding), inability to sleep (not kidding), the ability to vacuum yourself out of a room to the point that leaves no evidence of life ever existing in your home, and an overwhelming desire to punch anyone in the face who attempts to get in the way of your pursuit of perceived perfection (which of course does not exist).
Final comments: No amount of medication and/or alcohol will prevent me from being at my absolute best at any given moment in time. Please consider me in your brain buying endeavors.
Price: $4.00 OBO (and I’ll throw in my liver too…)