Anyway if I died young like Fycus (short lived baby office bird). I would be very unhappy. Don’t get me wrong I have ALSO completed the Utah Trifecta
1. Get Married 2. Have a Baby 3. Be a bad driverTwo out of three isn’t bad.
But there is some desire that burns deep within my soul. I have an animal addiction. I want them all. I want to live on a huge piece of land where I can have any animal I WANT. Jared did promise me that when we retire we could have a farm, but for some reason I don’t think he will stick to that. I guess the only option is to get every animal that I want. Then hunt down Will Smith, get that little mind eraser thing from him that he used in MIB, then erase Jareds memory. But just the part where he didn’t want a thousand animals. I picture my perfect life, and I just want to be out napping in the weeds with my pot belly pig, my pot belly bulldog, Shia, and maybe a few chicks that never grow up. Next to me there will be 3 huge green houses. Each will be the home for my Iguanas. I need a Red, Albino, Green iguana. Then I will have a farmhouse where I will keep lots of goats. They will have goat furniture and goat milk. Pus don’t forget my pond full of those hilarious packman frogs. I will have thousands. Then inside my home, where I already have accumulated many dogs, who I love to death, there will be a glorious Salt Water tank. Well actually, make that two. Two glorious Salt Water tanks. One full of fish, and one with only Sea Horses. So I clearly can’t die young, I have a lot to look forward too.
My next point of why dying young is not an option is because, I don’t think you hit your attractive peak until about 68-75. I think that babies are kind of out of proportion, like there eyes are huge or they have creepy big heads, they usually grow into them at some point. Something about really tiny fingers is scary to me. I feel like they could just fall off at any given point, they are SMALLER than a french fry. I EAT fries! Scary thought right? I know. Then you become a toddler, you’re mean and have boogers all over, then you’re an awkward teen, trying out 20 different styles and trying to cover you zit face. Then college, where you learn you have to work out to stay small, or you’re like me and are unhealthily small because you refuse to cook so you live off cereal. Then mom hood, where you rarely have time to get ready, and so on.. Some of these may not be accurate for everyone. But then you hit your prime 68ish, and there’s all those adorable wrinkles on your face. You can wear moo moo’s, and orthopedic shoes. Make-up, shmake up! go crusin’ in your RV and visit people all day and bring peaches. Life looks prime.
So there you have it. Two solid arguments.
