I don’t have much time to write this, but I discovered today that: I HAVE BECOME MY FATHER!. That’s right, I saw this wonderful Autumn afternoon in Michigan (sunny after a few days of gloom, in the 60s, slight breeze) as a perfect day to clean. This revelation struck me, and nearly knocked me off the step-stool I was standing on, while washing the window over my kitchen sink. Inside and out. And removing the screen to take it inside and wash.

Sad. Pitiful. Yes, I thought a guy’s shirt I saw a couple of weeks ago was funny: “Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional” or something like that. (It may have been “Growing Old: mandatory Growing Up: Optional” which sounds like the MasterCard commercial.) Yes, I’ve always refused to grow up, i.e. it is vital to retain one’s child-like sense of wonder and childish addiction to play/ jokes/ laughing (with the added advantage of sexual humor and entendre). But dammit, I don’t want to “putter around the yard” or “clean out the garage before winter” or wash windows on beautiful Fall days. I want to go out and hike in the woods, ride a bike, or just sit on the porch with my feet up and read a book, enjoying one of the summer’s last comfortable days.

What’s next? Hiking my pants up to my chin? (In fairness, my father does not do that. Hyperbole, it’s what separates the funny from the whiney.)

But I can’t just enjoy the day. I have heard the call and it cries “There’s more windows to wash and you can vacuum out the truck before it gets dark.”

Sigh.

I’ll go get another roll of paper towels.