I think I was shorted. Sweat that one out, baby. What if I suddenly grew long? I do important things for you and get nothing but abuse in return. What's up with that? Up? Sweat that one out too; what if I decided to turn up and make you look like a pig?
Every reference to me is negative, and that gets old. Nosy butt, honker, beak, snorter, don't get your nose out of joint, keep your nose where it belongs (like I've ever left my post), keep your nose clean, and worst of all, put your nose to the grindstone. Do I deserve that? I may not be the brain, but I think not.
For years, I had the responsibility of carrying those coke-bottle glasses, not an easy job at all. (And, I might remind you, if your eyes had done their part, things would have been much easier on me.) Oh, but if I got tired, and slipped just a little, you weren't kind enough to remove the glasses, or even use your hands to gently put them were they belonged. No, you wrinkled me up and forced the plastic frames right back into the spot that hurt in the first place. Just once, I used to think, just once have a little respect for me.
Do you have any idea how miserable I was during puberty? The breasts, the emotions, and the female organs got all the sympathy. I got no credit for the torture I endured. You squeezed, scrubbed (remember the brush your crazy friend suggested for black heads), dried me out with astringents, and steamed me with that unbearable little machine guaranteed to deliver a perfect complexion. If you had taken the time to remove your make-up so I could breath, these torture devices might not have been necessary. But, I wasn't the mouth, so I couldn't say a thing.
And then, to add insult to injury, you blamed me for your fear of kissing! Did it ever occur to you that it was my job to know where to go, and I was prepared to do my job? I was anxious for a kiss. I looked forward to snuggling up close to someone else's face, someone who may run a finger gently down my side, or bless me with a little kiss instead of torture.
I led the way, filtered your air, alerted you to danger, and what did I get in return? Black heads, zits, allergies, and paper towels instead of tissues. Personally, I think I deserved silk handkerchiefs.
I am kind, not too long, not too wide, and a nice little bridge for glasses. I keep the hairs inside so you don't have to be embarrassed. But, you drag me to stinky situations, and pinch me when I react as I'm supposed to, and draw attention to my compromised position by shouting some ridiculous word like phewweeee! It's not a bit nice.
You're the one who smokes and drags me around molds, cats, rabbits, dust, and Oak trees. You know full well what will happen, and you still curse me for running. But oh, the feet get praised when they run.
And please, learn to swim or stay away from the pool. For years, you squeezed me so tightly before going under water that I thought you'd pull me right off your face. What a baby you were. You still don't have a clue. Exhale! You jump in and let me drown and sting from the chlorine when you could easily exhale and force the water in the other direction. Is that so hard to comprehend?
Admit you know the truth. I treat you better than anyone else does. I don't have any muscles or joints. I give you no pain. I don't bleed. I don't keep you awake. And I don't sag or wrinkle.
I think we are going to become closer friends as you age.
Every reference to me is negative, and that gets old. Nosy butt, honker, beak, snorter, don't get your nose out of joint, keep your nose where it belongs (like I've ever left my post), keep your nose clean, and worst of all, put your nose to the grindstone. Do I deserve that? I may not be the brain, but I think not.
For years, I had the responsibility of carrying those coke-bottle glasses, not an easy job at all. (And, I might remind you, if your eyes had done their part, things would have been much easier on me.) Oh, but if I got tired, and slipped just a little, you weren't kind enough to remove the glasses, or even use your hands to gently put them were they belonged. No, you wrinkled me up and forced the plastic frames right back into the spot that hurt in the first place. Just once, I used to think, just once have a little respect for me.
Do you have any idea how miserable I was during puberty? The breasts, the emotions, and the female organs got all the sympathy. I got no credit for the torture I endured. You squeezed, scrubbed (remember the brush your crazy friend suggested for black heads), dried me out with astringents, and steamed me with that unbearable little machine guaranteed to deliver a perfect complexion. If you had taken the time to remove your make-up so I could breath, these torture devices might not have been necessary. But, I wasn't the mouth, so I couldn't say a thing.
And then, to add insult to injury, you blamed me for your fear of kissing! Did it ever occur to you that it was my job to know where to go, and I was prepared to do my job? I was anxious for a kiss. I looked forward to snuggling up close to someone else's face, someone who may run a finger gently down my side, or bless me with a little kiss instead of torture.
I led the way, filtered your air, alerted you to danger, and what did I get in return? Black heads, zits, allergies, and paper towels instead of tissues. Personally, I think I deserved silk handkerchiefs.
I am kind, not too long, not too wide, and a nice little bridge for glasses. I keep the hairs inside so you don't have to be embarrassed. But, you drag me to stinky situations, and pinch me when I react as I'm supposed to, and draw attention to my compromised position by shouting some ridiculous word like phewweeee! It's not a bit nice.
You're the one who smokes and drags me around molds, cats, rabbits, dust, and Oak trees. You know full well what will happen, and you still curse me for running. But oh, the feet get praised when they run.
And please, learn to swim or stay away from the pool. For years, you squeezed me so tightly before going under water that I thought you'd pull me right off your face. What a baby you were. You still don't have a clue. Exhale! You jump in and let me drown and sting from the chlorine when you could easily exhale and force the water in the other direction. Is that so hard to comprehend?
Admit you know the truth. I treat you better than anyone else does. I don't have any muscles or joints. I give you no pain. I don't bleed. I don't keep you awake. And I don't sag or wrinkle.
I think we are going to become closer friends as you age.
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