Slurped-Up by a Forehead

Posted by Moishe Callow on October 31, 2013 · 1 Comment 

When I was young, like nearly everyone, I wanted to look older than the number of candles on my birthday cake suggested I was. I would take it as a serious compliment when someone would try to guess my age and they overshot by two or three years, and I’d spend the remainder of the day strutting around, thumbs firmly placed beneath my suspender straps, thinking I was hot stuff.

When I was 19 someone thought I looked as though I should’ve been closer to 23, and I thought that was pretty darn swell. Afterall, if you tell someone you’re 23, you’re most likely living in a downtown loft, making a living as an artist or a musician(neither of which I ever had any desire to be, but those are the “cool” folks), and looking about as bohemian as possible.

Well, when I was 23 I did live just outside of a downtown core, in an apartment that totaled about 13 square feet. And I didn’t so much have a mouse problem, as the mice had a people problem. There were some delightful folks living beneath me who were avid users of crystal meth, and a lady above me who, given the banging-on-the-wall noises, I can only assume she was hanging pictures all day and night. To pay for these lovely living quarters I wasn’t a starving artist, but rather the lovely voice that calls you up, inquiring as to whether you’d like to do a survey about shopping habits.

I’d say, all-in-all, it was pretty close.

Thankfully, time marches on, and living/employment situations change.

Now I’m older and wiser, and I have the white hairs in my beard and creases around my eyes to prove it. Yes, such are the signs of aging. Some days I feel as though, to quote Kramer from Seinfeld, “I’ve got the body of a taut preteen Swedish boy.”. Not wanting me to get too excited, there’s my kids(or my wife) to remind me of just how old I now look.

“There’s white beard hair on the keyboard”

Yeah, well… you’re a Poo-Head! Now how old do I appear?

Tevye likes me to raise my eyebrows as much as I can so that I get “bumps on my forehead”. He, still being young, tries his best to imitate this look. He hopes that if he pushes with all his might he will get the smallest semblance of a line, crease, or bump. He’s six so he’s plum out of luck.

Not only does he like the bumps, but one night after supper, he wanted to kiss my forehead bumps. It was suggested by a particular wife of mine, that he should watch out, because he wouldn’t want to get sucked in to the deep crevasses atop my brow.

Everyone thought this was hilarious. Everyone except me.

Tevye now made it his mission to kiss my forehead bumps without getting sucked in. He didn’t remember the exact wording that his darling mother had used, though, and just went with “I’m going to kiss your bumps, but I’m not going to get slurped-up!”

I think that’s worse. I feel as though there’s some disgusting creature living on my forehead now. He only comes out when my eyebrows are raised, and he makes a terrible slurping noise every time a young child comes near. Imagine a very old man noisily eating soup.

If that doesn’t make you feel good about your appearance, I don’t know what will!

 

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