Groundhog Day, again
Another Groundhog Day has come and gone.
I hope you celebrated in a cozy nook, wrapped in a Snuggie, with a dog or cat on your lap to ensure that you cannot be moved, because “you don’t want to disturb Sir Waggington, Bark Twain, or Anderson Pooper.”
I’ve been thinking about Groundhog Day; not the part where we take weather advice from a rodent who is frightened by his own shadow, but the part where we must live our lives over and over again until we get it right. The Bill Murray movie has become as synonymous with the day as much as the Grinch, Rudolph, and Frosty have at Christmastime.
Do you ever wonder what would happen if you could live a day repeatedly until you perfected it? I do.
Immediately, I thought of all the stupid things I have said in the past. It’s a bit overwhelming. As regular readers of this column must know by now, I’ve said more than my share of stupid things.
Here are the top three sentences I wish I could take back:
“When are you due?” to a woman who was not pregnant.
“Don’t lose your temper,” later, to the same woman.
And “Go ahead. Call security,” also, to the same woman.
If I could pick the day, I’d pick one of the days I was in Italy, Australia, or at the beach – any beach. I wouldn’t pick February 2nd.
No offense, February, but you are no one’s favorite month. You’re not in my top 10 (and there are only 12). What do you have? Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day, and Presidents’ Day? Big whoop. Give me October, a month with my birthday and Halloween, or give me July with sweltering heat and fireworks instead of frigid temperatures and blankets of snow.
(Side note: You know you’re single when your proofreader must remind you that February also has Valentine’s Day. I had to wedge it in there before the final edit.)
I would not want to relive any day in February.
I have this image of waking up, bundling up so tightly that you can only see my eyes, shoveling the driveway, wiping snow off my car, and going to work – forever. That sounds like Dante’s secret Eighth Layer of the Inferno, the bonus track.
Now, imagine waking up in a hotel room at the beach on July Fourth, sunshine and fireworks. It would take a long time before I’d get sick of that scenario. Think of it: You get sunburned, but you wake up the next morning, or rather the same morning, and the sunburn is gone. You can do it all over again.
I like the idea of a day with no surprises. No shocking news on the car radio, just the general stupidity of the same day on repeat.
I would get sick of waking up to Sonny & Cher’s “You Got Me, Babe,” or, frankly, any Sonny & Cher song. Though Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” seems appropriate for the occasion.