Tiny Timber

Tiny things can be good. 

Tiny Tim was a musical phenomenon. 

Tiny people two generations removed from you are the best. They’re called grandchildren. 

Tiny cars that get good gas mileage are boss. 

Tiny car payments are even better. 

Tiny portions of colorful food in a Paris restaurant can be the best food you’ve ever tasted. (Too bad the tiny price does not follow in this case)

Tiny swimsuits are called bikinis. And just like Forrest Gump, that’s all I’m going to say about that. 

There is one tiny thing that I absolutely hate, even more absolutely now that I am aging.

Tiny print.

Tiny print can die in a fire. 

Tiny print, on medicine bottles, labels, on the back of packages, on package inserts, and on financial forms is just, well, too tiny. 

Teeny tiny.

Terribly tiny. 

Totally tiny.

I am fifty eight years old. I’ve been wearing bifocals for ******** years. I can see pretty well most of the time, unless you ask me to imitate a microscope. Then I have a hard time focusing. 

Too close to my face and it looks too tiny and fuzzy.

Too far away from my face and it looks too tiny. 

If you hold it juuuuuuuust right, it looks…

…too tiny.

If you really want me to read what you are printing and you want to convey knowledge or details or instructions to me that might be enlightening or enjoyable or life saving, then why in the name of all that is tiny don’t you make it LARGER?

LARGE THINGS can be good too. 

The Empire State Building. 

Mount Rushmore.

The National Debt. (Well, maybe that’s not so good…)

Donald Trump’s EGO. (Okay, I’m stretching it a bit…)

Please , if you really want me to read what it is you are saying and buy what you are selling, 


After all, Tiptoe Through the Tiny Tulips would never have been a hit.