I'm pretty sure I'm too young to be forgetting how old I am. That's not supposed to happen until you're forty or fifty. Yet the past few weeks, I've had to think more than once whether I'm turning 22 or 23. Oh well. At least in twenty years when I'm telling people I'm 32, it will be because I really can't remember, not because I'm lying. I suppose I should also feel older and wiser or something along those lines. I'd say I'm wiser than I was last year. I know how to get a baby to go to sleep by herself. I know how much diapers and formula cost. I know a lot more about aerobic walking than I ever did as a teenager. I know how to get my husband to cook dinner for me when I'm feeling lazy. If that's not wisdom, I don't know what is.
I've always been pretty proud to have the same birthday as Abraham Lincoln. He is, after all, pretty much the coolest president ever. Charles Darwin, not so much. Other than giving his name to the brilliance of the Darwin awards, what has he done for me? When I was little, I thought that being born on Abraham Lincoln's birthday was a sure sign I was meant to be president someday. I have since decided that being president isn't as fun as it's cracked up to be when you're in second grade. I also thought as a child that my birthday should be a holiday, since it was also Abraham Lincoln's birthday. Turns out it is a holiday in some states, but not Utah, and you don't get school or work off, which we all know is the important part. I think I'm going to go lobby in Washington to get President's Day revoked so we can celebrate Washington's and Lincoln's birthdays separately. Because they were both great presidents. And I deserve a holiday. Oh well. I guess I'll go get started on my presidential campaign so I can earn that holiday the hard way. Dratted red tape.
No comments:
Post a Comment