I’ve got to hide the big brains somewhere, right?

My classmates and I were in the elevator after seminar one evening, for some reason talking about what body part we would change if we could. It was my turn but before I could answer, someone said “Your forehead, right?”

Umm, no, but thanks for telling me you think I have a giant one.

Fast forward five or six years, and I’m trying on my doctoral graduation regalia. I’ve been looking forward to wearing my Hogwarts robe and funny hat for years. Years. I finally get the tam out of the package and cram it on my noggin. After a second, the damn thing pops straight up like bread jumping out of the toaster. Faced with the choice of pinning it on like a pill-box and hoping for the best, or attempting unskilled sewing surgery, I called the bookstore and prayed. After much to-do, I was able to get the largest size possible.

Fast forward three more years to today. I crawl into Mr. T’s lap while he’s watching the Formula One Grand Prix in Monaco. Attempting to execute an I-know-you’re-not-feeling-great-so-I’ll-be-extra-cute-to-cheer-you-up maneuver, I get nose-to-nose in the kiss position.

After some smooches, I think he’s about to say something sweet when he blurts, “Your head is so big, it blocks every bit of the television.”

Of the 60-inch television.

“HEEEEAD!!” If you haven’t seen So I Married an Axe Murderer, you must.

After some faux-shocked sounds, I reply, “Because you said that, I’m going to stay here longer!”

He didn’t miss a beat*: “It’s not so big though that it blocks all of the sound.”

After I stopped laughing, I croak, “And you just became a blog post.”

In case you ever wonder how blog posts are born!


*This conversation is a direct, fact-checked series of quotes, and for the record, T says he is proud not to have missed a beat there. Rude.


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