The Sun of Hope
I forgot someone’s birthday. The reminder is blinking at me from my unread e-mail. I forgot someone’s birthday. Ghack. Always a difficult moment: how do you confront them? How do you confront yourself? I have an easy excuse: I was blinded by happiness at the entry of Justin Trudeau into the Liberal Leadership race. For a caring person such as myself, the prospect of living in a loving Canada that celebrates Social Justice just wiped my mind clean of worry. So many problems would, will, go away. I won’t have to think any more. The unfettered bureaucracy would do all my thinking for me. What a comfort. And my fellow Canadians can have a soothing mind wipe, too. The Sun is rising. Still, I forgot someone’s birthday.
It would be easy to paint the forgotten birthday creature as a creature not deserving to have their birthday remembered. Blame the victim, so to speak. Or you can minimize the event: adults do not care about birthdays. The usual minimizing logic stuff you can churn out when you put Leftist goo in the thing maker. Play dough of logic. But, no, I cannot do that. My forgotten birthday person has chosen to venerate her own birthday as something important. Who am I, as friend, to do other but buy into her obsession and reinforce her peccadillo based accounting system. I stopped calling her fat long ago; and demur from questioning her sanity, taste in house pets, or fashion sense that is bait for the fashion police. Ugh. I bear the scars of my good friendship: the chair the fat princess crushed on that long ago blogger party still in the garage; the scars on my foot from where her vicious dog savaged me; and the few remaining pictures of myself accompanied by the fat plaid princess that my special ops software has yet to erase. How I have suffered. But who cares? Soon, the Sun of Trudeau will be making everything soft and cuddly. It is the gift of music to a city of the tone deaf. What a blessing. So, who cares about whats her names birthday? She will just nurture her collection of hangers on, libido driven charlatans, and stuffed shirts. I am nothing to her, except something to be chided for insufficient worship. But with Sun of Trudeau, I will be something. I can relax my mind and let him do all the adult thinking for me. What a relief.
I still feel guilty about forgetting the associates birthday. I have my excuses, but I am a victim, and the Sun of Trudeau will rise to banish all victim hood with a snow storm of government checks. How much can I expect? My birthday friend can get a birthday party; me, I want a plantation.