It’s the Fourth of July holiday week already, a time when the thoughts of most of us turn to grilling on the barbeque and being home with family and friends.
I’m working all week.
That’s all right, someone has to do it, but gathering news on holidays can get a little slow which gives me just a little too much free time, as you will soon discover.
Longing for the grill got me thinking about some of life’s great dilemmas.
You know, like why do they put hot dogs in packages of ten and buns in packages of eight?
My sense of symmetry forces me to the even number, which means I buy four packages of hot dogs and five packages of buns, but then I have to throw a party worthy of serving forty hot dogs.
I don’t like that many people.
That got me thinking about what a colleague said about how packages for potato chips and other goodies are getting smaller, but the prices are holding steady.
That led to some conversation about the market reacting to America’s growing trend toward healthier eating, but we know better.
It’s a sneaky way for them to charge more money for their chips without appearing to do so.
Like freedom, shopping requires eternal vigilance.
That got me thinking about some other mismatches in life.
You know, like why they sell washer fluid for windshields in one gallon bottles, but cars come with reservoirs that only hold about four-fifths of a gallon.
That leaves the driver with about two fingers worth of fluid, too much to throw away but not enough to keep.
Why can’t they get their act together and either install one gallon fluid holders or only sell the stuff to size?
Must I solve all of the world’s problems while waiting for a parade?
And just who are “they” anyway?
My daughter’s birthday was last week and that got me thinking.
Why do we have to live through an entire year before getting credit for it?
My daughter didn’t just “turn” seven years old, she actually finished her seventh year and started her eighth year.
Because we start out as “zeros” (some of us stay that way) we don’t get credit for being one-year old until we actually lived the entire year, and don’t get called “two” until we’re in our third.
I have no interest in suddenly being a year older and I understand the absurdity of calling someone a one –year old who is actually one week old, but the truth is we all lie about our age because we are all calling ourselves one age while actually living the next.
That doesn’t even include my mother, who has been “29” most of my adult life.
And that got me thinking.
Maybe I should take the Fourth off next year.