The Oatmeal Hates Me.

This is a conversation that took place between me an husband not long ago. 

The scene begins with me sitting on our couch, weeping pathetically. My husband enters the room.

Husband: "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

Me: "The Oatmeal hates me!"

Husband (thoroughly perplexed): "What's The Oatmeal?"

I hand him my tablet showing The Oatmeal's cartoon Having a Cat vs. Having a Baby. I won't post a link because hotlinking. You can search it up for yourself.

Husband (glancing through the cartoon): "Hon, I still really don't understand. Do you know this person?"

Me (crying harder): "No.  He's a artist and I love his work.  But he thinks our baby is a goblin and that he ruins all our dreams and poops and barfs everywhere on everyone.  He doesn't understand at all!" 

Husband (pauses, then speaks carefully): "So you don't know the person who wrote this.  And he doesn't know me, or our kid?"

Me (sniffling): "No."

Husband: "Sweetie, I'm going ask you a few questions.  Has our kid ever barfed on anyone other than you and me?"

Me: "No."

Husband: "Did you ever tell The...um Oatmeal that he needs to meet our kid or have his own?"

Me: "No." 

Husband: "I think I can safely say that this thing you just read has absolutely nothing to do with you and you might be upset about something else, or maybe you're caring about what someone else thinks, except that he has never thought about you specifically.  Ever.  He doesn't know who we are, and probably never will."

Me: "That sounds very likely. Why did I think he hates me?"

Husband: "Because you're afraid of people you like not liking you.  And reading this pressed your buttons because you love your baby and you love reading this comic and it caused you some emotional controversy. And you're probably hungry."

*FIN*

There.  My irrationality laid out in theatrical format.