Before you were born, I agonised over what sort of useful but unusual gift I could buy for new parents. I knew that when I discovered the right product, it would call to me and so, it did. A snot sucker. I’m not going to lie to you. I find babies somewhat discombobulating, but toddlers truly freak me out. Babies, like your sister, might scream and ooze from every orifice, but at least they stay relatively still. If you leave a baby in one location, it normally will remain there. I do understand that they can roll at some point though so I do not advise leaving them on the counter, or the edge of a bridge or cliff…unless they are really, really annoying.
Toddlers, like yourself, young person, move, at high speed, randomly. Toddlers, like yourself, young person, are often adorned with something sticky and/or snot. The snot of a child is one of the things most likely to trigger my gag reflex. If I want to get all analytical about this, the story would go somewhat like: “So, Miss Badass Auntie, when did your snotophhobia begin?” “Well Doctor, it was when a boy sat behind me in school who had a permanent snot bubble inflating and deflating throughout class. It would inflate, explode, deflate, reseal and inflate again with every breath he took. Every day in class, all I could hear was the sound of snot and believe me, snot has a fucking sound.” At this point I start retching and have to run out of the room. You are a walking snot dispenser, the thing I fear most.
Fortunately, when you were a baby you were an immobile snot dispenser. This was great for everyone else in your life as you were not able to distribute your snot upon every surface. It was not so great for you. I have no idea if babies can choke to on their own snot the way adults choke on their own vomit (I will advise you on avoiding this when you are a teenager and most at risk.) but as infants can’t blow their own noses and are inclined to produce mucus in vast quantities during the winter, it seemed that this gift was not only appropriately gross, but could potentially be quite helpful in reducing your volcanic snot producing discomfort and hopefully eliminate the risk of you becoming a dreaded mouth breather like your Tia. Then I discovered that there was a manually operated snot sucker. By ‘manually operated’ I should have said ‘orally operated’.
Oh yes! To extract the snot, the operator of the sucker would have to, quite literally, suck. Given that this was a gift for my baby brother, who happens to be your father, I could think of nothing more suitable. You’ll understand why I was so happy when you and your sister are old enough to fart on each others’ heads. I may live too far away from my brother to fart on his head anymore, but I can most certainly cruelly exploit his desire to be the coolest dad in town. The information about the product includes this “Each nose piece has a cleanable mucus housing chamber, this ensures the snot stays in the aspirator, and does not make it into your mouth”.
Want to know the weirdest fucking thing though? He liked it. He says it was one of the most useful presents they received. Just the thought makes me gag right now as I write this. I should have known.
So, words of wisdom today from your Badass Auntie are – Keep your snot concealed carry only, especially when I am around. If you do not, I will find a way to duct tape that fucking snot sucker to your face and let you suck your own snot. More importantly, the only snot that should ever make it into your mouth is your own.
Much love from your Badass Auntie
Less than a week in this harsh, cold world. I’m seeing cute photos of you on social media. Your dad says that you are so much easier than your brother. I know that will change when you are thirteen, but let them enjoy the luxury of the next decade believing that you are easier, shall we?
Speaking of which, I wanted to talk to you about body hair today. When I was 13 your Mimi caught me massaging my armpits. She asked me why and I responded that I was encouraging my armpit hairs to grow. This was very important to me because they had told me that I could not shave or wear makeup until I had armpit hair. In those days, shaving was supposedly a coming of age process for teenage girls. Truly it’s a bit weirder than that. What it meant was that as soon as any signs of my adulthood made an appearance, I was to immediately scrape them off with a razor because, apparently, women are more attractive when they look more like children. Since I was a teenager, quite a long time ago actually, it’s gotten worse. Back then, we were only obliged to shave our legs and armpits. Now women shave (or even worse – wax), everywhere. Yes. Everywhere.
Boys do have a similar coming of age, shaving thing on their face. But that, on the other hand, is necessary. Beards are just disgusting. It’s a repository for old food and, oh yes, we’ll return to the theme I started with your brother – snot. Your Dad has a beard, sort of. Fortunately, not a full on one, otherwise I might have to stop loving him. Be warned, I am superficially fickle like that.
Your Dad nearly stopped loving me once too, when he discovered armpit hair. Not just that I had armpit hair – I was going through an au natural phase that absolutely disgusted your Mimi (which is rather odd as she’s French and they seem rather at ease with body hair in France) but that any female had armpit hair. See, this is what happens when you are reared in a world surrounded by women who appear to magically have no body hair. Yes, it’s true. He did not know that women had armpit hair. I’m not sure if therapy was required to deal with the trauma, but it appears he recovered sufficiently to not hate me.
Your words of wisdom from Badass Auntie today are to inform you that growing armpit hair does not make you a woman. In fact, in today’s society, apparently, it makes you a freak. Being a freak is fine. If you do not want to shave, wax, or in any other way alter your furry self (and trust me, you’ll be furry there’s some strong hair genes on our French side), I will still love you and there will be plenty of other people who do too. (and if you ever are hard up for money and the urine thing doesn’t pan out (see previous blog) there are people who pay a lot of money to see people who have a lot of body hair) But heed this warning, because no one warned me. Once you reach a certain age, by ‘certain’ I mean old, like me – you will find that your fur will mutate and you will find random pubic hairs growing from your chin and possibly other bizarre places. You still don’t have to tame, contain or conceal them if you don’t want to, but I have a wide selection of tweezers that I’d be happy to pass down to you when the time comes.
Much love from your Badass Auntie