I’m not a fan of clowns.
Honestly, I don’t think that statement fully conveys my dislike of clowns—but I also don’t think anything I write really will.
I don’t find anything charming, fun, or delightful about them. There is nothing you can say that will convince me otherwise.
Popular clowns people often think will change my mind?
Ronald McDonald? No.
Bozo the Clown? Hmm…no.
The Joker? No thanks.
Pennywise? A clown created by Stephen King? Let me think about that… absolutely not.
(I read It a few years ago. Did I enjoy it? Nope. Did I get weirdly twitchy and sweaty every time I picked it up? Yup. Did I finish it? Yes…okay, okay, mostly. I read the beginning, most of the middle, and the end. I think that counts.
And if you disagree, that probably just means you’re one of the maniacs who loved the book and the movies. And of course, I say that with the utmost affection.)
Clowns that definitely do not help my fear?
Pennywise, Ronald McDonald, and the clown doll from Poltergeist. I’m starting to sweat just thinking about those creepy little…uh…dudes.
All of that being said, I recently logged into Netflix—and what do I see? A documentary about Wrinkles the Clown.
Despite my extreme dislike of clowns, the scientist in me is intrigued. I love documentaries… and it’s filmed in Florida.
And let’s be honest—a lot of interesting things seem to happen in Florida.
Let me say that again, just to make sure the people in the back heard it…
Parents can hire Wrinkles to scare their naughty children.
What. The. Hell? Who does that?
As a non-practicing psychologist, I can tell you this is not a good idea. I guarantee your child will definitely start to behave after a terrifying visit from Wrinkles… it’s hard to misbehave when you’re rocking in a corner.
So while hiring Wrinkles the Clown may seem like an attractive idea (probably to those who loved It), I don’t recommend it.
Firstly, clowns are terrifying enough without them hiding under your bed and jumping out.
Secondly… because clowns are extremely scary. I would know—I’m a scientist.
And thirdly, because the few minutes of entertainment hiring Wrinkles might get you is not worth the 10+ years of therapy it will cost you.
And if saying no is difficult for you (no judgment here), we can practice right now.
You can have your husband or a friend read the “child” part—or practice in front of a mirror. And remember, the answer to inviting Wrinkles should always be: “No.”
Here we go:
Child: Mom, Mom, can we invite Wrinkles the Clown to my birthday party?
Parent: No.
Child: I have his number—it was on a giant sign near—
Parent: No.
And another example:
Child: Mom, Mom, MOM! Wrinkles the—
Parent: Go ask your father.
Child: Dad, Wrinkles the Clown wants to come to my birthday party. All the other kids are inviting him.
Dad: You can invite him if you sign this contract promising you won’t be traumatized… and don’t tell your mother I said yes.
Okay, maybe that second scenario isn’t a great example. So… consider that more of a warning.
Well, I’ve got to finish this up. My husband has agreed to be my emotional support human while I watch Wrinkles the Clown.
If a few days… weeks… years… pass before I post again, I’m probably rocking in a corner.
If this made you laugh—or made you question why clowns are even allowed near children—give it a like and share it with someone who definitely wouldn’t hire Wrinkles
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Brain Fog & Brilliance 
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