Pointless Announcements

And yet, it is so very easy to understand men.

 

We're basically simple creatures, Fangirl. Our needs are fairly narrow in scope.

 

So, the real reason I was making a pointless announcement earlier: I got soil under my fingernails today! Soil!

 

Possible???

 

Bring beer and show up naked.

 

This guy almost got it...


But alas... it was too much to take.

 

Many people are not happy about having birthdays.

The more birthdays a person has had, the more likely they are to feel this way.

Birthdays are a reminder of aging and mortality.

Seen negatively, a birthday is an opportunity for your friends and family to jeer at your obsolescence, your aging body, your wrinkled skin, your failing faculties, your impending demise.

You might see other people, who are not having birthdays today, as viciously gloating over the fact that it's YOU getting a year older today, not THEM.

On your birthday, they can forget about their own inexorable mortality, by focusing on yours.

 

Jadzia never had birthdays.
She had anniversaries of her 29th birthday.
She was and always will be 29.

Perhaps you made one too many age jokes? Or somebody else did and you didn't throw your body on the grenade?

 

It's a simple resource allocation issue for us guys. Here's a diagram of the male brain's allocation of resources. It's easy to see that there's just nopt much capacity left over once these priorities are accommodated.

 

Uh... that's me. Every day. I'm doing just fine.

 

“Do not worry about your difficulties in Mathematics. I can assure you mine are still greater.” ― Albert Einstein

 

Em, I just see it as the alternative to having no birthdays for me, means no more me.
Maybe this isn't pointless.
When I really and truly almost died, when my ejection fraction was 10% and they were discussing if they could stabilize for a heart transplant, I made a deal with the powers that be to please let me raise my then just-turned-6 y.o.-that-day son to age 18. I got my wish. He is 21. So in essence, I've had 3 extra years. But I'm not ready to throw in the towel. Not even close. I have plans. Every day, forever.

 

Your story is wonderful, but we were struggling to understand Mrs. Ralphie.

 

Hahaha!
I love you, Street Pattern!
Ralphie already knows I love him.
My story is sappy as hell but it is true.<<<You could characterize me the same way.

 

CALLED IT.

 

Maybe she didn't like her outfit. Or felt fat. Or hormonal. Lord knows I get all out of joint when I can't find anything to wear.