Yes, it is officially official. Yesterday was the day that I nosed myself over the edge, past some stiff and single-minded competition, and was crowned World’s Most Boring Person. For weeks I have worked tirelessly toward the title by joyfully celebrating daily achievements like finishing a complete load of cloth diapers (two wash cycles!), unloading and loading the dishwasher (so many bottles!) before Mollycoddle cries out and getting her newborn photos (black and white and color!) in an album. I knew, though, that despite all of this hard work, I was just one of several nominees. I knew I had to redouble my efforts. So, yesterday, based on sheer willpower and adrenaline, I dug deep and showed the world that I really, really wanted it. I hungered for it. What did I do? I had a dream about onesies. A dream about onesies! I nailed it: let the celebration begin! Please, Dear Reader, don’t hesitate to ask me what it feels like to be this boring because I won’t hesitate to tell you. You may even pick up a few tips.
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