I went looking through the family album the other day, which is never a good thing. But I think I finally know why my humor is so twisty and warped.
Despite what the picture above might suggest, I had a happy if spectacularly poorly dressed, childhood. I blame my mother for my wardrobe malfunctions. She blames the 70’s.
Probably a little bit of both.
As far as I can recall, there was no need for me to kick-start early production on my Humor Development line.
Certainly there had been no childhood traumas bad enough to act as an evolutionary trigger.
Unless it was a by-product from my choosing to go topless rather than be made to wear anything else that made me a Chi-Chi’s restaurant poster child or a runaway picnic table-cloth thief.
Not exactly some of my best moments.
Now I suffer from Precocious Humor (NOT an official medical term), no doubt brought on by a mother who had way too much time, her own sense of humor, and a camera.
It all makes so much more sense to me now. And the reason I’m ever so slightly concerned. Look at Duck’s hat and at mine. Yeah….