I haven’t got anything against my brain (who insists on calling itself, Peanuts, btw). It’s just that when Peanuts tries to take over for me, it sometimes gets ahead of itself and does the dumbest things.
Yesterday, I attempted to write an essay about how comical it was that my crooked tooth is now the new beauty trend in Japan. Japanese women are paying for crooked teeth to make themselves appear more approachable.
I know it’s funny, right? And since I have a this humorous crooked tooth that sticks out in front, I thought it would make a hilarious essay!
Little did I know that my brain, Peanuts, unbeknownst to me, didn’t think it was funny at all because when I went to edit the crooked-tooth essay this morning, Peanuts hit the “trash” button instead of the “edit” button before I even realized what was going on!
Oh I get it! Obviously, Peanuts feels a little self-conscious about the whole subject of “our” crooked tooth Well, who knew?
So then I thought, well if my brain, Peanuts, feels that way about “our” crooked tooth, how do my other organs feel about it? So I decided to survey my organs.
As for my heart liking my crooked-t00th essay, well it feels like my heart didn’t like the fact that I was pointing out “our” flaws to the world. But it tends to be a softy so I can’t really take its opinion all that seriously.
Frankly, I have no idea what my spleen’s opinion is about the crooked tooth essay, but does it really matter what a spleen thinks? I mean, sure, the spleen is in there chuggin’ away day after day, but don’t you get the feeling it’s just performing busy work? If my spleen went away tomorrow, I doubt I’d even notice. No offense to my spleen, of course.
Oddly — even though my stomach is the most demanding organ in my body — it could care less about my crooked tooth. But it’s a self-centered little thing that just sits there waiting for the world to come to it. In fact, sometimes my stomach makes me sick.
My liver doesn’t have time to even have an opinion about anything as it’s been backed up with work since the 70’s and I hate to bother it with trivial matters.
Well, they’re just a couple of snooty twins who think they’re god’s gift just because they are always in such high demand transplant-wise. I’m sure they disapprove of my poking fun at any parts of the body that they are affiliated with. I have a good mind to tell them they’re just a couple of glorified garbage sifters, and knock them off their high horses!
My poor pathetic appendix. How can you have any respect for the opinion of an organ whose sole purpose is to sit there and be quiet in case anybody wants to remove it. I assure you, if I could think of some way to boost the self-esteem of my appendix, I would. But until people start needing appendix transplants, my lowly appendix’s opinion about anything is totally inconsequential — sorry to say.
I’d have to say that perhaps my brain, Peanuts, isn’t so dumb. After taking the above survey, it seems Peanuts threw itself over a grenade in the form of a crooked-tooth essay that would have done serious damage to the self-esteem of most of my internal organs had it been published.
It’s funny the way life turns out sometimes. Isn’t it?
Until next time . . . I love you