Further Proof I Lack the Girl Gene

This morning as I went about the business of the morning - waking up to Owen, saying hello to John, getting milk for the boy, getting Owen's food for the day ready, dressing, dressing Owen, walking out the door - when John says "Owen, don't you want to wish your Daddy Happy Birthday." Yeah, whoops! Am I not the worse person ever? I totally forgot. And you know why, because I am not truly a girl. Sure, I have boobies, had a kid, and watch Sex and The City, but deep down somewhere the internal gene that makes girls go goo goo and gaa gaa over such things as shopping, hair styles, manicures, Brad Pitt, leggings, and birthdays is missing. In fact, at this moment I am trying to recall the day we got married. I know it was July - but beats me if it was the 20th or the 22nd. I think the 20th, but I would not put money on it. But somehow I know that the New England Patriots won Superbowl XXXVI when Brady spiked the ball with 7 seconds on the clock to set up Adam Vinatieri's 48 yard field goal kick to win 20-17 against the Rams on February 3, 2002. So what does this mean? No girl gene! So Happy Birthday John McCall, I love you very much.