I am forever asking. “Why?” or when I am really frustrated, “Why Dammit!”
Don’t we all ask that? It is the perpetual question that if we had that answer we could solve world hunger—or at least solve what the heck to make for dinner.
I think I ask myself “Why” at least a thousand times a day. Seriously. Why did that person do that? Why can’t it be this way because it is just simpler? Why do those kids always leave dirty socks in the hallway? Why doesn’t my kids realize that I am the coolest person they ever will meet? Why shouldn’t I wear high heels with shorts?
Why does my Mom’s scrambled eggs always taste better than mine. It is just eggs anyway. Why the heck do hers taste so different? Why am I asking you about my Mom’s eggs? Why?
Then there is a whole bunch of manly whys. Why does our son suddenly “need” to shave when he has no whiskers? Why do men wear rugs when bald is so sexy? Why will a guy spend $5000 on special tires for his truck that is already so high off the ground that his girlfriend can’t crawl into it without getting a nose bleed?
There is that “gross why” which we will never understand. Why does that man in front of me in line at the grocery store fart and then look at me like I did something? Why do men/boys find that funny?
The dating “why” haunts us all our lives. Why did that guy never call? Why did he say he would call when he never meant to? Why doesn’t his mother think I am the best thing he has ever had in his life? Why does the word “shrinkage” bother him as much as the word “tiny?” Why can’t he just talk about his feelings?
Why does he frown when I ask “why?” Why the heck does he feel the need to “name” certain body parts? Why do men always get nervous near Valentine’s Day? Why don’t they write mushy love letters? Why don’t they know that all we want is some additional attention, because who cares about flowers? Why not chocolate? Chocolate is always good. Why do some women demand more than that and ruin a perfectly good holiday for everyone else? Seriously-why?
