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See these bags under my eyes? I earned them the hard way.

August 25, 2010

So teenagers aren’t getting enough sleep because they’re spending too much time plugged into their social network, online games and cell phones (Wired and Tired)?  Well boo-hoo.

You know what keeps me up at night?

  • a mortgage we’d love to refinance in order to take advantage of lower interest rates, but which the bank won’t touch because our house’s value has dropped farther and faster than Rod Blagojevich’s pompadour when denied large amounts of extra-strength hair mousse and a leaf-blower hair dryer
  • trying to figure out why, when property values rise, my property taxes go up; but when property values tank (see above), my taxes go…up
  • Lady Gaga’s political commentary
  • lamenting how little we’ve saved in the kids’ college funds
  • juggling raising a family while caring for infirm parents
  • struggling to successfully apply the law of diminishing returns to driving 5 miles out of my way to buy gas that’s 2.7 cents cheaper per gallon, taking into account average gas mileage, speed & time spent idling at red lights (Please excuse me while my head explodes)
  • middle-age spread (wait – did I say middle-age?  Umm…I think I meant post-teen)

At least teens still have collagen in their elastic virginal undereye skin. They don’t have to face a mirror each morning sporting  dark circles, puffy lids and undereye bags large enough to smuggle at least a dozen extra-large cotton balls into a Marlon-Brando-as-The-Godfather-look-alike convention.  Nor do they have to have a serious conversation about whether or not hemorrhoid creme is really an effective – if not humiliating – antidote to said bags.  (Not that I have ever actually participated in such a conversation.  I just happen to know someone who knows someone whose great-aunt thrice removed thought she’d once overheard this particular remedy mentioned during a sit-and-be-fit class at the local senior center.)

I’m not bitter or anything, but I have no sympathy for the poor pubescents who simply lack the will to turn off their nifty little gadgets and games.  Feel sorry for them?  Give me a break.  Look me up teen texters, when you move out of the house, get a real job, and realize you get two days instead of two weeks for Christmas vacation (truth be told I never got over that), living on Top Ramen and fast food is actually kind of gross, and it takes a lot of the fun out of staying home sick when there’s no one around to fetch tissues or keep you plied with juice, crackers and chicken soup.

In other words, see me when you’re all grown up.  Then we’ll talk…and I promise I’ll have all the sympathy in the world.

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