If you ripped open my chest to look in at my heart, this is what you would see :
A tiny-little boy's face with giant sunglasses, smiling at the ceiling fan. A drooly-chinned Archer clad in striped pajama jumpsuit laughing away behind the largest sunglasses five bucks at the Melrose Trading Post could buy. I have come to the conclusion that one, if not THE greatest part about being a parent is being able to dress your child up like the the anorexic celebrity of your choice. Today I chose you-know-who.
But seriously, if I had it my way, every day would be baby-in-large-plastic-sunglasses-day.
And so it's like this. Instead of crying over my hipsterectomy, I will rejoice in the cool that exudes from my heart-- striped, sunglass-ed and smiling.
Single hipsters that rock the newest hot-spots may *appear cooler* but my heart wears bigger sunglasses. And they're red, too. With a little gold thing on the sides.