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The Importance of Vodka on Father's Day
a blog by Jenny Roo, June 12, 2013
Does anyone know the appropriate person to petition to have the date of a holiday changed for my own convenience? Would that be Santa or the Easter Bunny? I do feel a six foot chocolate-producing bunny may have access to powers that I clearly do not. I do believe we should have Mother's Day and Father's Day fall on the same weekend so that I could condense my black-out-drunk-from-vodka experience to one dignified, annual, 48 hour period. I do not enjoy that I have only just freed myself from a Mother's Day hangover and here comes Father's Day.
My husband and I both lost our fathers shortly before we met. (They died.. they're not like, misplaced in the backseat of our trash-filled cars, or anything). So throughout the entirety of our 10 year (holy gawd) relationship, we've basically tried to ignore the holiday altogether and if some jerk accidentally reminded us of it, resigning ourselves to spending a Sunday in June on the couch grunting at bad TV. (...so really just a Sunday).
So it's hasn't been our favorite holiday, but it was doable. Our dads have been gone a long time, and at this point the triggers that cause tears in that regard almost always tend to be random surprises. And for most of our relationship, Mother's Day has really just involved panicking the Saturday before and spending an unholy amount of money to get flowers delivered on time.
Enter infertility. Enter Facebook. Enter that naughty little witch in the back of my head that says 'you shoulda coulda woulda been celebrating this, you know'.
There was once a glorious time where my Facebook newsfeed consisted of boys and girls I didn't particularly like in High School uploading pictures of themselves wearing scandalous things at trashy clubs and making fishlips.
And now they've all procreated.
Cue the seriously annoying round-the-clock status updates that say something along the lines of "parenthood just gives your life so much meaning, life was so pointless before, you guys you have no idea".
Now, I don't want to be the incessant bummer who wants to take away from people who are happy. I have a friend who, in response to every cute picture of someone's pet, responds with a link to remind them of how many animals die in animal shelters. She is Facebook's answer to Sarah Mclachlan. I do not wish to be the person that causes someone to hum 'in the arms of the angel' to themselves.
But the statuses that suggest parenthood is the only thing that provides a life meaning say to me "your life is meaningless. Try harder because you're not trying hard enough". It also suggests that Mark Zuckerburg has secretly developed an app to realize my worst nightmares and blast them to me personally over two 24 hour periods.
So my plan to get through this year is to look for meaning in a martini, stay the heck away from Facebook, and fantasize about sending my friends' offspring pictures of them fishlipping and grinding.
Perhaps not a dignified plan, perhaps not a plan that would be approved by most psychologists... but I do like to think that Santa and the Easter Bunny would be on board. I think they could use a drink.