Birthday Blues

Yesterday was my birthday. I no longer relish big celebrations. I don't demand presents. Nobody has to take me out to eat. But it WOULD be nice to at least hear from my kids, don't you think? There are three of them. Only one wished me a happy birthday.

Well. No cards. Or ecards. Or phone calls. Nothing. I don't think it's a coincidence that the one who remembered is a girl. The two who forgot are not. There are exceptions, of course, but it does seem to be a guy thing. I wonder why. Is there something about testosterone that depletes memory? Does estrogen somehow enhance it?

Maybe this would be a good thing to use some of that stimulus money on - a research project on why guys forget birthdays and anniversaries more often than gals do. I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to find somebody willing to put it together. It's not a bit more far-out than some of the things already being done with our tax dollars. And don't tell me none of those tax dollars were mine. I worked way more than thirty years and paid into the tax tub just like everybody else.

Of course, the argument could be made that these poor fellows are simply suffering the logical result of being in my gene pool. As I mentioned a couple of days ago, my memory isn't the best in the world. And come to think of it, I may have forgotten one or two of their birthdays through the years. On second thought, maybe I'll just let it slide this time. It could have been worse. They could have made me a cake with too many candles!