Revelations are always amazing. It is the knowledge that your kid is a reflection of yourself, that your parents went through the same trials and tribulations with you that you do today with your own children, that your friends’ husbands are every bit the nincompoop and savior that your own husband is.
Revelations are the wisdom that you gain from knowing the difference between what matters and what is silly nonsense that should be overlooked in lieu of the real importance of any issue.
And today, the revelation I had is why Don Draper is really Dick Whitman, a fact that I always found confusing but went along with for four seasons of Mad Men, all because I missed two episodes of Season One that I finally caught up with this evening on my way to catching up to be ready for Season Five.
He took the identity of his fellow fallen soldier to escape the ultimate boredom and smallness of his own real life. I never know why until now.
The puzzle pieces finally fit together, and I can’t wait to see what else I will find, this treasure hunt of a lifetime.
Revelation. It is, in a word, priceless.
Okay. It can also be pathetic out of context. Or, in this case, in context. Whatever.
March 25, peeps. March Twenty-Fifth, Two Thousand and Twelve. I will be ready.
|I can't wait.|