Restricted Entitlement.

I looked through the singles ads in the local paper tonight, seeking suitable material for a post. I found plenty that warranted humorous commentary, but I didn’t feel entitled to be humorous. I get days when I don’t feel entitled. I don’t know why.

I still have a Christmas present sitting in my office unopened because I didn’t feel entitled to open it. And there was another package which came in the post about a week ago. That remained unopened too, because I knew who it was from and didn’t feel entitled to receive anything from said party. But then I was told that the person concerned had been made privy to my reticence and wasn’t pleased, since the package contained a gift from her 6-year-old daughter. That made all the difference. I decided that anybody, even me,  is entitled to receive a gift from a child because it’s one of the few things in life that is truly free. That’s what makes it so beautiful. So I opened it.

But I still don’t feel entitled to poke fun at B, 46, who says she’s ‘voluptuous, seductive and very saucy,’ however tempting her blatant and amusing descent into the realms of euphemism might be. (Nor even the ‘professional widow aged 73.’ Or M, who describes herself as a ‘sophisticated solvent brunette.’ I’ve heard that solvents can be very bad for the health, and I’ve no idea what a professional widow is.) So I’m not going to.