Bug-eyed

It’s disturbing when my own drawings cause me physical discomfort when I look at them. This one gives me the urge to go stick my face in a sinkful of water and blink rapidly.

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The Hirsute of Happiness

He could be experiencing cardiac arrest. He could be suffering from severe indigestion. He could be in the throes of a major panic attack.

Then again, he might just be trying to show what a manly man he is by grabbing big honkin’ handfuls of chest hair through his sweatshirt and yanking at ’em like there’s no tomorrow!

I couldn’t do that, though, and I know this from experience. All it took was one little through-the-shirt tug from my two-year-old daughter as she tried to scale “Daddy Mountain” to make my eyeballs shoot out of their sockets like bloodshot tether balls and leave me in a quivering, fetal-position heap for about five minutes.

What can I say….I’m a wimp.