When it comes to toddlers, the worst part of the day is the hour before bedtime. They're tired, but they don't want to quit playing. They get angry at every little thing, even though they're having a good time. If you put them to bed, they'll scream bloody murder. But if you say, "Fine, you can play for a few more minutes," they'll scream bloody murder, but in a different register.
Why? Because no matter what you do, it's the wrong choice. Toddlers are tyrannical little a-holes who are both delighted and angry about everything.
This time of year, March and April, is like a toddler's bedtime. Winter is over, and spring is coming, except they're not. Either of them.
Winter is holding on with the stubbornness of a toddler who doesn't want to go to sleep; spring is bounding in with the energy of a toddler who could play for hours. And they both showed up on the same day.
It's warm enough that you sit outside for lunch, but cold enough that you realize that was dumb just as your food shows up.
It's warm enough that the robins are looking for worms, but cold enough that the worms are underground saying, "Are you serious right now? I ain't going out there."
It's the time of seasonal colds and seasonal allergies. You're sneezing constantly, and your sinuses are leaking, so you're twice as "productive" as you normally are.
Should you take allergy medicine or cold medicine? Or do you take both and just kiss the sky for a few hours?
Having a cold or allergies brings out the Red-Nosed Sniffers, which sounds like a Dr. Seuss character, only much more annoying.
Would you, could you, with a sniff? Would you, could you, off a cliff?
Red-Nosed Sniffers are those people who constantly sniff while in public because they think half-heartedly inhaling their snot every 30 seconds is better than blowing their noses.
They sit *sniff* three tables away from you *sniff* at your favorite coffee shop *sniff* as you're trying to work *sniff* on your laptop, trying *sniff* to write a report that *sniff* requires patience and total *sniff* concentration.
They won't *sniff* blow their nose, and you're *sniff* starting to believe that the *sniff* only thing that will make them *sniff* stop is a cricket bat. *sniff*
Maybe I'm turning into a grouchy old curmudgeon, but I will stomp over and hand a Red-Nosed Sniffer a napkin without saying a word. They quickly get the hint and immediately blow their noses. They also quit sniffing, and I'm not forced to take more drastic action.
What I really hate are the Barrel-Chested Snorkers, which sounds like a neighbor of the Star-Bellied Sneetches.
Just imagine David Attenborough speaking in warm tones over gentle orchestral music.
In the shadowy corners of public restrooms and behind remote trees, you'll often encounter a rather curious creature, the Barrel-Chested Snorker.
The Snorker is known for its deep, rumbling vocalizations, which are produced by a forceful inhalation through the nose, vibrating the upper palate, producing its namesake "snork." This noise serves two vital purposes: Communication, and to signal that it drank too much milk.
Snorkers are usually found in public places a few days after a cold or during allergy season. They are often found sitting behind me at a restaurant last Monday or at my office, camouflaged as my boss, which is all that kept me from spinning him around by his nose.
When the Snorker enters a contested space, such as a forest or a public bathroom, it will blast a challenging snork to announce its presence. This is not merely respiratory housekeeping; it's an announcement of its arrival.
Soon, a rival Snorker may respond in kind, whether in challenge or celebration.
What follows is a dramatic exchange of nasal blasts, a ritualized call-and-response Like the ritual war cries of ancient warriors, Snorkers communicate their own prowess even as they convey their respect for the opposing foe.
The louder, more resonant snork determines the victor, who then assumes control of the forest or the best men's room urinal.
Though it is rarely seen, the Barrel-Chested Snorker is often heard. To many, it is an annoyance, immune to sidelong looks of disgust and offers of tissues. But to some physicians, especially the ear-nose-and-throat specialists, it is a marvel of evolution and the source of their next boat payment.
But don't be fooled by the Barrel-Chested Snorker. They are considered an invasive pest species and should be expelled from any territory outside their own home.
Just hook a neti pot up to a fire hose, and that should do the trick.
Photo credit: PublicDomainPictures (Creative Commons 0)
My new humor novel, Mackinac Island Nation, is finished and available from 4 Horsemen Publications. You can get the ebook and print versions here.