Murder Clown

Sometimes I don't feel like a mom.

I mean, I was childless for 24 years of my life.  And then, three days before my 25th birthday, BOOM!  Baby.

For whom I am entirely responsible.

If that's not scary, I don't know what is.

In any case, sometimes I kind of forget that I'm a mom.  I'm young and hip!  And moms are dorky and weird, right?

...not my mom, of course!  She's super cool!

Well.  It turns out that I'm definitely a mom.

At the parade last Friday, a clown walked by.  He was a very surly-looking teenage boy in what looked like satin pajamas and a clown wig.  And makeup, of course.  And he WASN'T SMILING.

I mean, really.  An angry clown wearing satin pajamas?  That's terrifying for the children!

So I did one of these:

On Wednesdays we wear pink!

And he smiled!  Success!

...and then I realized that I'M A DORKY MOM.  And laughed a lot.  And cried a little.

And then the clown walked behind me after the parade and I tried to hide.  Because he could have been angry at me for forcing him to smile!  And what if he was a murder clown???

Murdering me on the Fourth of July wouldn't have been very patriotic.  So I'm glad he didn't.
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