Remember all those wonderful things I’ve written about my
mom over the past nine months? There’s
this gem. And this
one. And don’t forget this
one. Well, I take them all back.
OK, not really, but she’s starting to test my patience.
Last October, on my first Halloween, she
dressed me up in a ridiculous peapod outfit when I was just nine days old.
I wasn’t happy about it, but I forgave her pretty quickly because I was barely
a week old and didn’t know any better. Besides, it was Halloween, and if you
can’t dress up like an idiot on Halloween, when can you dress up like an idiot?
But this is going too far: Last week, Mom got a little
nutty and decided to put me back into
that outfit, because apparently she’s insane.
A
wise man once said, “Fool me once, shame on… shame on you. Fool me – you can’t
get fooled again.” Strong words. Strong, bewildering words. But there’s a grain
of truth in there somewhere. I can’t let this happen again.
If I’m going to break this vicious cycle of
veggie-themed-outfit abuse, I’ve got to put my foot down. I wish there was some
way to tell Mom that if she tries to dress me like a tomato for Halloween this
year, I’ll get a tattoo of Richard Nixon on my forehead the day I turn 16. Oh,
wait. I guess I just did tell her. For the sake of both of us, I hope she heeds
my warning.
By the way, I’m a very good eater for the most part. I
drink my bottles of formula quickly, without any unnecessary dawdling or
shenanigans. I eat a wide variety of baby food without complaint, from squash
and carrots to peaches and apples. My ability to pick up one Cheerio at a time
and (eventually) get it in my mouth is unmatched.
Yes, I'm wearing a "My First X-mas" bib in July.
But to this day, there’s one
food that I simply refuse to eat. Do you know what it is? You guessed it:
Nice going, Mom.
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