I don’t get it.

While there’s a lot in this world that I don’t understand, there are a few things that I just don’t get.

The mustache trend — or rather, to clarify, the fake, often-plastic-or-some-other-manmade-material mustache trend.

I used to think it was quirky, maybe funny. Straws with mustachery affixed to them that can make any gender look as though they have a tidy uni-hedge of lip hair? Sure, worth a guffaw, I’d say. Photo booth props? Alright, I’m in.

But now it’s going too far. Mustache earrings? Sorry — mustache “studs,” I should say. I was looking at a website the other day and spotted tiny mustachii with a post and a backing, all for the bargain price of $13 (more than a 50% discount, presumably because nobody else wanted them).

Last time I checked, however, I had no desire for my ear to have a mustache. Maybe I’m just old.

Something else I don’t get: HBD.

I understand what it’s intended to mean, but — for starters — if “birthday” is one word, shouldn’t it just be HB?

Better yet, have people become so lazy that we can’t be bothered to simply say the actual words to their friends? Two words, people. Two words. What’s more, there are only four syllables when you say them, while saying the letters still involves three. Is coming across as someone who can’t be bothered to extend a heartfelt greeting because you wish to save a whole syllable — sure to be reincarnated as an intelligent “uh” or “um” later in the day — really worth it to you?

If it is, then may you receive a hearty “TY” in return.

One last thing — for today, anyway. Parking lot sharks. At a gym. Need I say more?

There will always be things I don’t get, but for the most part, I recognize them as what they are: tiny diversions from life, for better or for worse. Some allow us to crack a smile, others just remind us that we need to step off and let others do what they want to do. After all, I’m confident I have a trillion things that others probably “don’t get,” and to each their own. For these things, I am thankful.

TY for reading.

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