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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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December 2005 / January 2006 Contest Results |
Gone To The
Funny Farm
By Meghan Kinsey
Newburyport, MA
The definition of
bipolar is having or marked by diametrically opposed natures. The
definition of mother is maternal tenderness that creates a rollercoaster
of emotions marked by diametrically opposed natures -– one of
amazing love of her children, the other of bizarre outbursts
characterized by running from the house in a crazy, wild-eyed manner while
yelling something about going insane.
Hmm... insane.
The definition of insane is extreme unreasonableness and a deranged
state of the mind; see mother.
Holy *&@#!!! That explains everything! No wonder I have developed this
odd twitch above my left eye whenever my kids are around. I knew I was
going to have to give up a lot to become a mother –- my career, my sleep,
my perky breasts, but I did not expect that my sanity was going to have
to be sacrificed too.
The trading of my sanity for this delirious state happened slowly and
perhaps went unnoticed -- until it was too late. It began before the birth
of the child, as I joyfully sang the praises of the state of pregnancy
that I was in; I was aglow with the life inside of me while
forgetting that the little occupant had caused excruciating sciatica and
golf ball-sized hemorrhoids. Only an insane person glows while
determining if it is more painful to sit or stand.
This trade-off for good sense continued after giving birth. It became
more acute as my husband and I were awakened for the fifth time in the
middle of the night by baby. We were so in love with the little tyke
that we didn’t mind softly singing him Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
-- a
song we had sung 1.2 million times in the four months he had
been alive so far. Chronic repetition is a symptom of insanity.
And you know the padded walls are calling your name when you and
the other mommies compare the number of days you have gone without a shower. I
was so proud for winning the competition with the grand total of four
days and eight hours. Perhaps a straight jacket is what I needed, because
only an insane person can’t smell her own filth.
Thankfully, I am not alone. There are gaggles of you out there. You
didn’t think I was listening, but I could hear that nonsensical mumbling
coming from under your breath. You and your droopy-breasted selves all
belong in the same funny farm, right along with me.
I feel so much better
knowing that I can expect to see your smiling faces in line at the psych
ward with me. Seems like there is going to be an awfully long line; I’ll
bring the wine for the wait.
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