Over the weekend we went to the Natural History Museum, one of the greatest places in NYC (in my humble opinion). Partially this was a way to spend some time outside of Brooklyn, as I’ve developed a distressing tendency to avoid the “outside world”, but it was also to visit one of my favorite dinosaurs, the triceratops.

Now, up until a few days ago that last sentence wouldn’t be controversial, but in case you haven’t read the latest paleontology digests they have recently declared that my beloved triceratops never existed.

It’s okay. I’ll give you a second to get your jaw off the floor. I understand. My life flashed before my eyes too, distressingly concentrating on The Land Before Time.

I’ll admit I was hurt when they announced that Pluto has never actually been a planet, despite what my third grade teacher told me, but I got over that – I always preferred Mars and Saturn anyway. But this? This is unacceptable. This has taken scientific inquiry where it is neither needed nor welcome, like that awkward cousin at the Bar Mitzva that won’t take the hint and leave you alone with Matt from third period Algebra.

Basically what I’m saying is that science and I might be taking a little time off. I’m not saying I want to see other people, but I think I need a little space to think about our relationship.