Growing up in Cape Breton, I was never really much of a people person. Instead of having a ‘social life’ or acting ‘normal’ with other ‘people’, I was happy to just play in the woods surrounding my house and sharpen sticks with my mother’s kitchen knives.
Did this affect me negatively? Should I be worried that my son may have some of my introverted tendencies? Did eating wood that looked like chicken stunt my interpersonal growth? I’m not a normalcy scientist, how the floppy fuck should I know?
Anyway, I’ve decided to get the hoser out and about. Meeting people. Shaking hands. Drooling hard and taking names. He is a people person after all. I mean, he has pulled more hair and glommed on to more faces than any grown adult I know. He likes…
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