From the Introduction to Head in the Sand … and other unpopular positions:
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You don’t have to be a wife or mother, as I am, to identify with the stuff in this book. You just have to know a wife or a mother. That’s close enough.
I’d love to say that everything in this book is completely true . . . or that everything in this book is completely made up. Either way I’m going to be in a boatload of trouble with somebody. So, to keep from being lynched in the restroom of the local craft store, let me assert with unabashed honesty that everything in this book is as true as it needs to be in order to be funny. When starting each of these essays, my goal was to exaggerate when necessary to keep the humor up around belly-button level (because belly-buttons are funny).
Imagine my surprise to find out just how little I had to exaggerate once I really got rolling. These people I grew up with and hang out with and live with are just naturally funny. Well, from a slight distance, anyway. They just don’t know it yet.
Still, I’ll leave the specifics of exactly which parts are true and which merely further the cause of humor up to you, dear reader. Because nobody I’ve mentioned in this book is going to admit to anything. Not without a lot of coaxing and a cashier’s check.
So, now that the legal garbage is out of the way, just who do I think I am writing this stuff? A little background: I was raised in the sixties and seventies by a mother who drove a Fiero in the eighties and listened to Pink Floyd and a father who drove a pickup truck and listened to Johnny Cash. Somehow, all that genetic material added up to me.
Me? I drive cars old enough to vote and listen to “Weird Al” Yankovic. I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense to me, either.
But I take hope for the future of our family—because my kids drive nicer cars than I do . . . and listen to Pink Floyd and Johnny Cash.
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Head in the Sand: … and other unpopular positions
