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Confessions of a barely-functioning adult

I’m the one who surfed out of your nethers on a wave of conspicuous debris. I imbibed the life out of your mammaries until they formed two sad flaps of lactational inactivity, and I’m the one you love more than yourself. A surprise, indeed.

I’m sorry for being cantankerous. I’m a small functioning adult trapped in what appears to be a vole’s body and I have areola-phobia. While many would take to that bosom with the fervour of a starved piglet, I find solace in sipping around those pinky, pocked discs. Give me a bottle any day.

Dr Seuss believes, “adults are just outdated humans,” which is a true point when you consider Kanye’s latest collaboration with Adidas. But, then, I’d prefer to be a subpar human with an ability to hold a spoon and not defecate uncontrollably.

Then there’s Ella’s Kitchen. The kitchen is not Ella’s.