Size Does Matter (But Not the Way You Think it Will)

If you know anything about me, I recently have become extremely obsessed with tiny clowns to the point where they have overtaken my life. Drawings of tiny clowns, tiny clay clowns, just the vibe of teeny tiny little goobers and I’m sold. Clown anarchy has descended upon my friend group and as we now live in a honk or be honked kind of world, the unworthy had to be weeded out. 

This obsession started on a humble Tuesday while scrolling through Pinterest searching for something to draw, where I saw what I could only describe as the cutest goddamn thing I have ever seen in all 21 years of my life. I can’t help but be swayed by something tiny and cute, so cue the maternal side of me that shall never see the light of day. There’s just something about them that is so squishable that I can’t help but feel a certain way about these little guys. 

To give you an idea of the scale of cuteness I’m talking about, imagine the jumping mice circus from Coraline, except these probably aren’t secretly evil larger clowns in disguise working for an evil entity trying to eat children’s souls. Probably…But I digress.

It’s unfortunate that the patriarchy is out to get me as a woman and I have non-existent pockets, because I would love to carry them around and feed them singular peanuts. It’s like Plankton, he only need one peanut and in an odd way they’re also like Squinkies in my mind, small and very very chewable. Think the wonderful chewyness and sound of the Polly Pocket dresses but amplify that just a little bit. 

While this may be the 10 year anniversary of one of the craziest moments in modern human history, you have to admit to yourself that tiny clowns are adorable. If I’m lucky enough to have swallowed one, it can then speak to me through my spinal cord.