The Agonies of the Damned

I know I’ve said this before, about something else (I don’t remember what). And I know it’s not news to parents.

But if I may be permitted to not only repeat myself, but state the obvious, because it never fails to surprise me:

I experience more pain when painful things happen to my kids than when they happen to me.

Now I know that’s a big dramatic buildup for a discussion of a topic that may seem trivial to many: the underattended birthday party.

Mack doesn’t even want to go into specifics, except to say it happened to someone in my vicinity of late, and I couldn’t take it. It was five solid hours of sheer torture.

This is why Mack doesn’t even HAVE birthday parties for myself anymore. Mack doesn’t want to know how many friends he has left. Mack doesn’t want the truth about who really gives a crap about Mack.

To paraphrase Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men: “Mack can’t handle the truth!”

So I just go out for dinner with Mrs. Daddy, to a nice restaurant.

And I love this ritual, actually. Mrs. Daddy pays. It’s still much, much cheaper than having a dinner party, so the sky’s the limit.

And someone else does all the work, man. Throwing a party is a lot of work, I don’t know if you’ve noticed. It takes hours to get ready and hours to clean up the next day.

Go to a restaurant they do all the cooking and cleaning.

I’d talk more about this topic but even though I am talking about it I don’t want to talk about it.

If you’ve ever attended, or even worse thrown, a party to which almost no one shows up, you will understand the above cryptic statements.

It’s sheer torture. And you can’t leave. That would make the host feel even worse. You have to stand there, squirming.

It’s agony.