Happy Leap Day everyone!
In honor of this blessed event, I encourage you all to, I don't know, jump over something...or...yah.
And you all know I'm really rootin' for the rapture but, in the event that doesn't happen in my lifetime, I've picked out my death date. Now, I've shared with a number of my friends that I have a sneaking suspicion that I will die at age 44 of some terminal illness. But, if that doesn't happen, I've picked out February 29, 2080. I'd like to die on Leap Day. That way people don't have to think, every year, about how you died that day however many years ago. Rather, every four years they can be like, "Oh remember how Great Granny died? Yah. That was sad. But, dude, she was old." Do you think they'll use the word "dude" in 2080? See, because, if I don't succumb to whatever disease I may have in my forties, I'd like to live to be 98. I won't be quite ready at 94--my 104 year old husband will still be gnashing his dentures in my general direction and whining that they took away his driver's license. But he'll die in his sleep around 105, give or take a month or two, and I don't want to have to live too long without him. It'll be a sad day in the nursing home when I finally expire. All the hired help will shake their heads sadly and mutter, "Now who are we gonna get to direct Geriatric Shakespeare?" I totally plan to go out onstage, mind you. I'll be rockin' Desdemona and I just won't ever recover from that whole getting smothered with a pillow thing.
Anyway, all that to say that I love Leap Day because it's like the rarest of all holidays. And if bad things happen, well, you can kind of forget about them for four years. I don't want to have a baby on Leap Day though, I think it would be super lame to only truly have a birthday twice a decade. My eighth grade math teacher was born on Leap Day. Technically speaking, he was younger than us.
Well, that's really all I have to say on the subject matter. If you're still around in 72 years, send my family a sympathy card or something.