I'm Just Saying

Oh, those little behaviors that sneak into ones (or, let’s be real, my,) vocabulary that signify the advent of becoming an ‘old timer.’

It’s been suggested, despite our dogs being litter mates and pledging allegiance to each other first, with nary a second thought for Paul or me, that they are suffering from separation anxiety.

Most of the stand up comedy I do these days are private, corporate events which are quite pleasant: professionally run, appreciative, a quick turnaround. Perfect for someone whose goal is to not only work as little as possible, but desires not to be gone long from home and hearth.

It was either that or a Senate seat.

Ignorance of the law is NO excuse, so let this be a lesson to all of you would-be drivers of giant wieners.

(I’ll pause while you wipe down your laptop screen.)

When you live in a house with four cats and two dogs, who shed with the same prolificacy as Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree lost its needles, one must (let me rephrase that to ‘I must’) in order not to look like a complete slob, vacuum every.single.day.
Every day.

But wait, there’s more!

Prior to traveling home from a turn around trip to Seattle, I, as usual, purchased a paperback to while away the 4 and a half hours spent flying the friendly skies.

Not having children, I missed that whole, “Just wait till you have kids!” of which my mother warned when I was a mouthy teenager.

Pizza in the oven?” I asked, coming in from the barn.

“Yep.” said Paul.

“Great,” I replied, peeling off my work gloves. “I just need to shower, but everywhere I look I see more cat hair, so I’m going to vacuum first.”

“OK,” said Paul. “I’ll scoop out the litter box while you do that.”