Self-deprecating humor is the condom of feelings: It prevents all sorts of emotional diseases and preempts unintended surprises. And there’s nothing more surprising than feeling good about yourself and then receiving comments from people with mouth syphilis who feel it’s necessary to state the obvious.
I’m going to beat everyone to the punch so I don’t have to experience what Kathy Sebright did when she overheard an acquaintance comment on her size. Here it is:
I’m getting fat.
Yup. I said it. I’m packing on some poundage. I’m channeling the chub. I’m racing toward rotund.
Not only that, I’m doing it consciously.
To understand where this is coming from, we have to go back to adolescence…because isn’t that where most of our shit starts?