How is it that the smallest decisions in life are often the hardest to make? Should I wear the red shirt today? You think he's cute? Chocolate or vanilla?

I suppose that on one hand, life makes so many of the big decisions for us. Oh shit, it can't be blue'¦ please don't let the stick be blue. You're firing me? But I thought we really had something, babe, where is this coming from?

On the other hand, maybe we simply have too many options. Maybe we're just a bunch of overgrown kids in the proverbial candy store who won't even like our own caskets in the end because we'll inevitably leave the decision ' pewter or classic black? ' to our grieving spouses, gay sons, and spinster sisters. Maybe we'll even let them draw straws for the privilege (or burden) because, hell, we can't decide our own fate, much less theirs.

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