I Believe… [A Potato Has No Gender, Idiots]
I believe… that if the renaming of “Mr. Potatohead” to “Potatohead” is the hill you’re going to die on, you may need to get some sort of professional evaluation.
I believe… that if the renaming of “Mr. Potatohead” to “Potatohead” is the hill you’re going to die on, you may need to get some sort of professional evaluation.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?