Aside from an expensive Pokeman card-collecting habit and the purchase of some strange, multi-sided dice, Eric managed to manage his teen years in relative quiet, or at least as far as I'm aware.
My friend's warning got me thinking, though. What, exactly, is the algebraic explanation for what happens when a half dozen middle-aged women get together?
perhaps? (To be fair, I have absolutely no idea what this equation is stating. Like all middling 21st-century has-been mathematicians, I simply copied and pasted it from some unsourced website)Tomorrow, I head out for what can now be called the Third Annual Gathering of Middle-Aged Spartan Women. With two years' of evidence in my possession (mostly in the form of fuzzy photos and equally fuzzy memories spawned when the occasional synapse fires), I believe that I can make a scientific claim that explains what occurs when six women gather:
1. We become exponentially funnier.
2. And louder.
3. And, depending on external variables, such as the quantity of two-buck Chuck and artery-clogging snack items, we lose all concern about the thoughts and opinions of others (herein referred to as Those Who Do Not Matter Right Now).
Given all the good vibes that flow when I gather with my female peeps, I cannot for the life of me understand why most men seek solitude rather than social gatherings. Why they have "man caves" rather than "coffee klatches."
Maybe it's all that stupidity they gathered in their youth, those painful memories of death-defying idiocy. Maybe they like to be alone now because they can't shake their youthful pasts, all rolled up in kerosene-soaked Sun Newspapers, and tossed into a blazing fire that left them with no eyebrows for some long-ago August.
True, it may be safer to lock yourself in a quiet man cave than to share a roomful of bunks with well-meaning world-class snorers. But, mathematically speaking, "safer" does not equal "better," no matter how you slice it.
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