So, this morning, I was pondering an article headline I read (headlines are so good these days that I don't feel I need to read the whole thing) that read:
Men mature at approximately age 43, British study confirms
WHY do we do this to ourselves? Are they cute like puppies? Not really. Are we bored with our adoptee-less lives? I didn't think I was.
This, reader, is the real mystery because most, if not all, of us know that men don't mature for a while, but we take them in and feed them and want them to be our husbands anyway. Research THAT! Oh well. Thanks, British scientists, for spending time and resources on something we could have told you DECADES ago. CENTURIES ago.
So, this afternoon, I was resisting the urge to ask someone with a sick kid if they had taken the kid to the doctor. No one likes unsolicited parenting advice or suggestions. So why, having hated it myself, do I feel compelled to do this? WHY?
I figured it out as I was weighing the pros and cons...my stream of consciousness flowed like this: "Don't say anything because she probably took him. Surely she took him. If she didn't take him he could die from it. Oh the humanity. If I don't say something and he dies, I will have the guilt to live with. Being disliked by this dad is better than guilt. Say something!!!"
*Microwave-like 'ding' sound*
So I did.