Sometimes when you write a cheeky Red Sox blog for a small Boston newspaper, these little gems pop up in your in-box.
As anyone over 20 years old can attest, nothing sucks quite like your adolescence. In hindsight, I’d rather be strangled with a rope made of my own pubic hair than to be 15 years old again. But there are few forces in the universe with same ire and intensity as adolescent angst.
A friend of a Facebook friend, who reads my blog posts, his teenage daughter’s friend had this gem left on her voice mail by an ex-boyfriend. I checked, and I can can assure everyone the young man leaving this message, while clearly piqued, is fine. “Jordan” is there for him. But you have to take your hat off to this dramatic pause at the end of the message. It is like he’s shaking his fist at the sky before dropping the final, punctuating line. Poetically rendered.
So the Red Sox have won five games in a row, and summer is breathing down our necks. It is a great day to remind yourself how fortunate you are to have moved past those teenage years.