Why is everybody always picking on me?

It’s not a competition, really. More of a compare-and-contrast type of situation.

I mean, I’m not better than him. He’s not above me. Truth be told, I’ve lived my whole life feeling sorry for the poor little guy, what with all of his very public humiliations and all.

Turns out we are kindred spirits, he and I. We actually have more in common than I like to admit, though I will.

Sigh.

For instance, we are both pretty old. I mean he was born in 1948 and I came along a mere two decades later.

He has weird hair. Me, too.

His staunch belief of the good in people often leads him to blindly kick the wind because his ne’er-do-well spotter has pulled the football away at the last second. It always ends in his flat-back SPLAT of a fall.

Um, ditto, at least in the philosophical sense.

He adores his ever-hungry, floppy-eared canine. Same.

Let’s face it, if cartoon character Charlie Brown was human, and a girl, with hair, he’d be PK.

Just this week, I was the very personification of America’s most lovable loser.

First, there was the denying dialer at my day job. Allow me to explain.

I got this phone call from the marketing rep at an area institute of higher education. She asked how many attendants we have registered for an event that we have sponsored at the school for the past 87,000 decades.

Not only has she called me about this very thing every stinking year for the past six (and I have always been courteous and provided the info she needs), but she’s always quite terse and never fails to ask if I’m the right contact. Perennially.

Did I mention that she’s cold enough to freeze ice on AND that we had FOUR CLASSES TOGETHER in grad school? Oh, she also always calls me Patricia — the sure sign of a warm heart, given our history.

You blockhead!

Next came the case of the disappearing immunization records.

After eight weeks of tracking down, sending and re-sending my son’s medical records to his college, we got a notice that his measles, mumps and rubella vaccine verification was missing. And that he wouldn’t be a student there much longer if it didn’t materialize pronto, BTW.

Not only did the large hospital system now running the pediatrician practice that once cared for baby Kyle misplace the hard copies of said documentation, the disk version is “currently not accessible.”

Wait, what?

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you, good luck,” said the clerk before the click.

AAUGH!

Luckily, we got it all straightened around, so I zipped back to the dorm with Kyle after the holiday weekend. What a beautiful road trip … right up to the point when the scud clouds started forming over my head. I’m not kidding.

You know how that rain burst follows Charlie Brown all around the baseball field on an otherwise sunny day? I caught the live show, lightning strikes four feet in front of my car and all. #Terrifying

Good grief.

Thing is, I’m okay with dealing with a little bit of grump here and there. That rude gal is just my Lucy Van Pelt, capisce?

As for the other silly scenarios, I would do them all a bazillion times and back again for that boy ‘o mine because, like old Chuck always says, “Happiness is anyone and anything that’s loved by you.”

He IS a good man, after all.

Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who loves her kid. And her dog. Her hubby. And, oh yeah, Charlie Brown. Visit her daily blog www.patriciakimerer.com

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