“I AM SCANACUS!”

I’m sorry. I can’t stop. It’s crack, people, CRACK!! I am one step away from forsaking family, friends, prestigious career, eating, sleeping, and bathing just to sustain my sorry addiction. And after that comes the intervention where I act clueless and defiant and mumble things like “Whuh?” and “So?” and “Wull, I doan do it that much” while family and friends read quavery-voiced from little papers clutched in their hands. Then after that comes my long and twitchy rehab with group sessions led by a woman named Mona and her flowy tunics and crinkle skirts and jade necklaces where I sit, slumped and alienated, making high-pitched scanning noises, “vvvvvvvtt. vvvvvvvtt. vvvvvvvtt,” while Mona clicks her tongue and chides, “Tracey, I realllly don’t think you’re doing the necessary worrrk,” and I mutter, “Whuh? Whuh?? Shuddup, Mona. Your skirt sucks …. vvvvvvvtt …. vvvvvvtt …. vvvvvvtt ….”

Eh. Sounds okay to me.

All righty! Denial — O-ON!!

This series is from older nephew’s 3rd (?) birthday party. I am a strange auntie, as you will see:

Here I am with nephew, where, just seconds before, I was meticulously demonstrating the proper way to play with fire. I had taken one of his LIT birthday candles, stuck it in some Play-Doh, and smushed it on my nose. So I had a flaming birthday candle on my face — whatever — and he saw that, bugged his eyes out, and started giggling hysterically. Seconds later, he climbed into the chair next to me and blew out my flaming nose. THANK GOD!! Because of the DANGER, you see, of FIRE!! Good thing his father was there, Johnny-on-the-spot with the appropriate response: snapping pictures!

Oh, and then nephew wanted the candle back — so that’s this photo. WHEW! Y’all just missed the DANGER!

Funny thing is, I swear I can hear the world-weary sighs from family members — who WERE in the room with me — actually feel the apathetic vibe, “Oh, don’t bother. It’s hopeless to intervene. Let’s just eat some cake.”

Thankfully, he seems to have survived unscathed by my instructional vignettes on how to live his life. But God only knows what that hideous “antique yellow” beadboard might have done to his tender psyche. Do you see that? “Whuh??”

Um, where I take a colorful balloon arrangement and hold it on his head, because it makes a fetching hat, a balloon bouquet, and I obviously think he should know this. That’s my hand there. Oh, and that’s how the picture was actually taken — with the hand all chopped off and creepy like something out of “Saw,” but without the blood. No, no. That came later. (The horror was definitely there, though, ” ….. and it was allll yellow.”) But this is one of my absolute favorite pictures of his little face. I cannot look at it without dissolving into laughter. That smile! Those eyes! Those cheeks! Smooshysmooshy goodness.

(I did something wrong in the scan of this one. My lipstick cannot be THAT red. I can literally hear it screaming, “Look! LOOK at my redred lips!” No. NO. Scanner error. Gotta be.)

(But yes, my hair is red here; just not as red as my redred lips.)

Anyway …. here’s the poor, traumatized tyke, allowing “Trashy” — as he called me — to snuggle him.

See?

“I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!!”*

(* Yes, it’s in “The Elephant Man,” but it’s in “Spartacus,” too!)