Despite what the Mayans say, we have it on good authority that the world will not end on December 21.
Our authority is my newest brother-in law Keith and his birthday is December 22.
Apocalypse not now. At least not until Keith gets a slice of birthday sweet potato pie.
Shifting Teutonic plates notwithstanding, we believe the earth is good for a few more years. We have experience deflecting this type of pessimism. The warranty ran out on our furnace nearly 16 years ago and it’s still chugging merrily along.
It’s not like the Mayans are the only civilization to run out of calendar. I’m not afraid to admit that it’s happened to me a once or twice as well. You miss a January appointment or two, pick up the free Sierra Club calendar in the back of church and boom! You’re back in business.
Much like Sweetest Day, the “Ninth Wave of the Cosmic Convergence” likely sprang from the foam of an enterprising event planner’s imagination, a meme conjured up to sell cupcakes, greeting cards and those suspicious cookies that have been secretly coded with the Mayan calendar since 1912, Oreos.
We’re not saying you shouldn’t hunker down with the cockroaches Friday night and attempt to ride it out. We’re just saying you might feel pretty foolish when you wake up Saturday morning all stiff and cranky with fuzzy teeth because toothpaste is the last thing you thought you’d need on the last night of the world.
Our advice?
Party.
In fact, Molly is attending an end of the world party Friday during which celebrants will be feasting on a T.A.R.D.I.S. cake, both a tasty treat and a Dr. Who recommended escape plan… just in case.
