Thanks, Hanes, for ruining my life: You know that “bacon neck” commercial with Michael Jordan’s Hitler ‘stache? Ever since that first aired, Husband has decided to take it upon himself to mention how many of my t-shirts have bacon necks. All the time. So that’s pretty cool.
But he’s just so cool: This one time I read that LL Cool J has a 3 foot circumferenced head. THREE. FEET. As consequence, he has to get all his hats specially made for his noggin’.
So back to the bacon neck. It’s true, actually, that every single t-shirt I own that doesn’t have a certain percentage of spandex in it has become…wavy around the neckline. I suppose I hadn’t really noticed it because probably all my plain cotton t-shirts have been this way my entire life. But then Hanes made it a big deal.
My arguments were generally not accepted by Husband; I try to pull them on or off over my towel turbans in the morning (actually, this is entirely untrue because I know for a fact that would stretch out my clothes all funny, so I have made a concerted effort to avoid such a thing) or perhaps I stretch them out in my sleep (I know, I know, this is the lamest excuse ever). Finally he told me: “You just have a big head.”
A big head. Really.
It’s taken awhile, but I now pride myself on how petite basically all of me is. I have these short little legs and an essentially non-existent torso, and when I exercise and eat right and lose weight I look like I could be folded up and put in your pocket. You know, if you’re into that sort of thing. I have tiny feet that fit into children’s shoes and fingers that are so short I am actually incapable of playing many of the piano compositions I have grown to love. I just can’t reach the keys. I’ve never really felt any part of myself was big enough to, say, stretch clothing out.
And so, yesterday, after being utterly fed up, I decided to Prove Husband Wrong once and for all. I grabbed my measuring tape, stepped into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and instructed him on how to properly measure the circumference of my head. And then I measured his — at the largest point, naturally — to show him how remarkably normal my head really is.
The Low Point
As it turns out, the circumference of our heads is identical. As in, his
abnormally enormous head and mine are the same size. I had him measure my head a second time, squeezing a little harder because I have about ten pounds of hair on my head and was quite certain all the fluffiness was getting in the way but alas, it did no good. Oh sure, it nearly popped my eyeballs into my head and took off half an inch, but that is NOTHING. I’m fairly certain my head measurement is actually what I’d like my waist measurement to be.
I always thought waists were bigger than heads.
Alas I must concede that my head has stretched out all my t-shirts, leaving them bacon necked. Ergo, I will never, no never, give birth to a child. I can only imagine what a basketball might feel like, emerging from my loins, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.