Looking back on my life, it has become apparent that I probably never should’ve survived to adulthood. Observe:
I was born two months premature, and extremely low birthweight. I could have all sorts of debilitating health problems, but I don’t. Actually I do. I’m allergic to everything, and my big toe itches. Also, I think a fly just landed on me.
When I was a youth, we used to play smack-dab in the middle of the street for hours at a time, with the impression we'd just dodge any approaching cars. Fortunately, cars rarely ever came (it was a very secluded cul-de-sac.)
When I was seven, I wanted to reach something on the top shelf of the closet in my toy room. So I pushed the child-sized table over to the closet, and stood on top of it, but I couldn’t reach. So I put one of the child-sized chairs on top of the table and stood on that, but I still couldn’t reach. So I put a second child-sized chair on top of the first child-sized chair. Don’t ask me how I accomplished this. I then stood on the second chair, fell off the whole contraption, and sprained my arm.
When I was 10 or so I had a heart-shaped “mood necklace.” One day, I took the pendant off the chain and placed it on my tongue, so I could see what color it would change to. I then promptly swallowed the pendant.
So as you see, through some act of divine providence I’m still alive and kicking, enabling you all to read this ridiculous blog.