I know, I know. There are a couple of problems with his rendering of moi. First: I have no hair. Second: what's going on with my nose? But those things pale in comparison with the real problem. Let's zoom in a bit:
Me: "Um, what's on my tummy?
Jensen: (all sly, wink, wink) "You know...."
Me: "Uh..." (I'm in a total panic, wondering if I'm pregnant again and my seven-year-old knows before I do. Once I decide that this is definitely not the case, I continue my query.)
Me: "No, I guess I really don't know what that is."
Jensen: (still sly, kind of pointing to his chest) "What do girls have that boys don't?"
Me: "..."
So tell me: what's more troubling? The fact that my kid drew my boobs, or the fact that they're on my abdomen? God, the truth hurts.
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Staring at children's art can be absolutely hypnotic. It always sets all kinds of OCD alarms buzzing in my head, but then I quickly feel that it's so far gone from reality or even order that I just begin to bask in the chaos.
ReplyDeleteMaybe that's what Picasso was going for?
And while I can sympathize with your displeasure over the placement of the lump, you should choose to take solace in how perky that lump is. That's what really counts, right?