Look at the size of that boy’s head. I’m not kidding, it’s like an orange on a toothpick. Well, that’s a huge noggin. That’s a virtual planetoid. Has it’s own weather system. Head! Move that melon of yours and take your mother the paper if you can, hauling that gargantuan cranium about! I’m not kidding, that boy’s head is like Sputnik; spherical but quite pointy at parts! He’ll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillow.

~Stuart Mackenzie describing his son’s head in So I Married an Axe Murderer

Yesterday, at 5:15 am, I went to a Pilates class.

At one point, I realized my head is really, really heavy. Perhaps it was at the point I was lying on two doubled-up mats, holding my trembling head up as I attempted to raise both legs, feet-flexed, off the mat, making my body a perfect letter V. That was the goal. I suspect, if I were an Alphabet Dancer on Sesame Street, I would have been fired for repeatedly making a crumpled W or perhaps an S as I curled into the fetal position in pain.

Or maybe I realized my head is like an anvil when I was expected to hold a massive green ball with my ankles as I reclined on my side. I imagined my legs were the tongs, the ball was the rancid meatball. Lift, lift, lift that rancid meatball off the black mat! Again, head-heaviness.

My head also felt heavy when I strained to see where the meatball rolled when it popped out of my tongs and undulated across the room. It hit my ridiculously in-shape and normal-skulled friend Susan. She kindly rolled it back. But within two seconds it escaped and hit a complete stranger, who seemed to be handling herself well.

I put my ball back on the stand. More ab-work. Somehow, ab-work involves the neck and cranium. Curse my big giant head, so full of brains!

Then again, if I were so smart, I wouldn’t have gone to 5:15am Pilates.