Why My Oldest Child Should (Rightfully) Hate Me

 When my oldest was three, he wandered into my parents’ closet one day. I wasn’t there, but my sister found him standing in the middle of the closet staring wide-eyed up at the top shelf. The shelf was lined with Styrofoam heads, covered in wigs.

My mother lost almost all of her hair in her 20s due to a medical condition, so she’d always worn wigs. My sister, being …..well, heavily influenced by me…couldn’t resist the urge to mess with the mind of a toddler.  She didn’t have kids, yet, so she didn’t know how much her shenannigans would affect him.

“What are doze?”

“Those? Oh this is a head farm. You see, grandma has to grow new heads in here because she has a strange disease that makes her head fall off every night while she sleeps. Every morning she gets a new head out of the closet and paints a face on with her make-up.”

He ran, screaming, from the room.

He still remembers the incident.

He’s a little strange.

I blame her.

Posted on November 16, 2011, in Maybe I'm The Only One Who Thinks This Is Funny, Posts, Random Crap and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 9 Comments.


    How typically Jamaican of her. Messing with the heads of nieces and nephews is the favorite pastime of uncles and aunts here.

  2. At least you have a point that you can refer to and say: “Doctor, that was the day it all started…”

  3. I feel sorry for him, but that is one hilarious story.

  4. You are awesomesauciness! Very smooth!


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