It’s not the catastrophic failures that wear you down–those you mark as unique and unrepeatable. No, it’s the breaking of a bridge by the stamping of ten thousand small feet. At the end of the day when you’ve rejected your dinner and eaten a cookie, having to eat a piece of fruit instead of a SECOND cookie, well, there’s nothing sadder.
Buck up, little fella, dry those tears–there’s still chocolate on your arm you can lick off or spread on the couch when you try to climb up. Forget about that pizza with the scratch-made crust and artisinal toppings, that can be thrown on the floor in anger and sadness. Quietly weeping into your double chin and saying “…cookie…cookie…” might make another one appear from the cookie jar on top of the fridge.
These are the things you forget ten minutes later but spring up fresh ten days or ten years later–why couldn’t I have just given him a second cookie? Honestly, what’s the HARM in that? Look how sad he is, just imagine the little gap-toothed smile and wiggle dance you’d get by giving him another cookie. What a mean parent you are, honestly. A cruel, fun-killing, nutrition-obsessed, grown-up, SQUARE! No, you can’t have another cookie. WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!
Writer, architect, father, husband.