Since having children, I bet I could sell life insurance better than anyone. All the times I've almost fallen to my death on the magnetic letter "Y", sitting there in its innocence in the center of my kitchen floor. Who knows how many times I've tripped over a string of railroad track pieces, or got that skinny metal rail on the baby bouncer stuck between my toes as I'm trying to walk, sending my mind into expletive heaven (one of these days I'm going to slip and say the bad word that my mind screams so loudly). Let's not forget the avalanche of Tupperware containers that plummet towards my forehead as I open the cupboards. (I wonder who stacked them so neatly?) Spilled liquids (including, but not limited to: spit up, milk, orange juice, bacon grease, water, Otter Pop drippings and ice cream). Big, empty cardboard boxes strung across the floor from a previous trip to Costco. DVD's and DVD boxes, strategically placed on the tile floor in your exact walking path. Buzz Lightyear. A dinosaur. Unrolled toilet paper. Baby walkers. A tricycle. Weeble Wobbles. I think my blood pressure is rising, I better stop. Moral of the story: If you have children, you need life insurance.
Sincerely,
Me.
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