Surgeon General's Warning

I’ve decided that people should come with warning labels. We should know up front what we’re getting into if we decide to associate with a person or enter into a friendship or relationship. I’m talking about something more than a legend or key that would tell us, “A narrow nose shape equates to meanness,” or “Full lips equate to superficiality.”

Here are examples of what I’d like to see:

“Warning: I have the emotional equivalent of syphilis. It may cause some itchiness at first, but after you think you’re over it, it’ll lie dormant until your brain is eaten through like Swiss cheese and you die.”

“Caution: Extremely fragile. I’ll become upset and have a major meltdown if you so much as look at me the wrong way. Don’t even think about constructive criticism; I don’t know what it is.”

“Beware: I’m a woman beater. I’m not kidding. I’ll beat the shit out of you and then convince you that you can’t live without me because you’re worthless on your own. If you doubt me, you’ll regret it. Oh, and I beat men too.”

And these warning labels would not be discrete. They would serve no purpose if you couldn’t see the warning labels until you were already undressed and in bed with someone. And forget about small print. I’m talking billboard-size font. Right on the side of someone’s face. Or possibly on the forehead. Doesn’t much matter, as long as there’s no possible way to miss the warning. Perhaps we should require that it be printed in Braille too. . .