Baby First Words

 Previously on "The Many Misreadings of Mark Woonton" I purchased Avocado Ranch dressing, extra crunchy peanut butter and fiery hot Doritos. After consuming the Avocado Ranch dressing, the only noticeable difference to me was I became much more critical of my four year old nieces artwork describing it as "unoriginal" and "wreaking of impressionism." The extra crunchy peanut butter had little to no effect on me after years of playing hockey. The fiery hot Doritos had been sprinkled with sawdust from the sixth circle of hell. I hypothesize that the reason for this misunderstandings is that the product name is written as big as the freakin' Hollywood sign while these indicators of individuality are a font size akin to the messages on CDs warning people that if they run the product through their cloning machine without the expressed written consent of the national football league, the offender will be sentenced to write "I will not make unnecessary copies of things" in cursive on a chalkboard one hundred times. On this weeks episode, I use something that says "shampoo and body wash" and to complete the quintet of communication, preceding all of that written in the "itsy bitsy teenie weenie, small so small all of y'all can't read me" font that causes people to crane their neck like they are on a roller coaster, was the word "baby." Now, I do not know what the difference is between this baby shampoo and body wash and the Jocko Wilnick's steel wool wipes that I use, but my guess is that it is more sensitive on the skin. Unless other effects of the "baby" brand are very apparent I am probably not going to notice a difference, because I am already relatively uncoordinated, cry when I am hungry or tired and am topped off with a cranium container that is disproportionately large for my body. If it is anything beyond that I will let you know

Fridge Over Troubled Waters

 The biggest irritation in my life right now is the pace at which water moves out of the dispenser in the refrigerator. Am I asking for a speed and volume that requires a helmet, raft, paddle, life vest, a burly boat guide and a brown sign on the street headed up to the house? No. However, something a little faster than a stalactite drip would be appreciated. In the past, I have been late predominantly because of wrong turns and traffic, but with each passing day that this issue is not addressed I get ever closer to peeling into some parking lot or driveway, exiting the vehicle with water in hand and mutter "Sorry I'm late, I was filling up my water."  

One Way Ticket to Nowhere

 There is something about sitting at my gate at the airport with a suitcase and backpack closely nestled into me and a travel pillow behind me while scarfing down a bagel and suspiciously eyeing everyone around me that definitely makes me feel like a homeless person