A number of years ago for Christmas I bought my mom a book, The Hypochondriac’s Guide to Life. And Death. It’s a humorous book that jokingly attempts to so overwhelm the reader with rare and deadly diseases that you can’t help but give up on your hypochondria.
My mom is not actually a hypochondriac at all, but she is one for her children. When I was 21 I was about 6’3 and let’s say 150-160 pounds … in case that doesn’t help – TALL AND SKINNY. I was debating the idea of signing up for a marathon class at college to help me prep for a marathon. Why not, right? My mom had recently seen a Sunday night news program talking about a tall, skinny, in shape young man who died suddenly and unexpectedly while training for a marathon. It was an incredibly rare heart condition that is generally only seen in skinny and tall fellas. Motivated by this, my mom made an appointment for me to get an EKG to check on my heart.
Having just opened up a box containing the pieces that will be used to assemble a (dear God please let it be safe and sturdy) crib, I am beginning to see the foundations of her hypochondria by proxy.
WARNING. IF YOU ARE WEARING A BAGGY T-SHIRT OR OUT-OF-FASHION SHORTS WHILE ASSEMBLING THIS CRIB, THIS MAY BE A HAZARD.
I think there is a warning for everything in the instructions. It’s comical until you reflect and realize what led to every single additional warning, and then it is gut-wrenching. Louis C.K.’s edgy don’t-touch-that-topic style approach to humor has nothing on crib assembly instructions.
The crazy thing is, even acknowledging this makes me fearful. What have you done to me, unborn child?
P.S. This may be the only product I will have ever registered for, since they send safety alerts. For once in my life, I’ll be rooting for spam instead of a real email.