Saturday, March 03, 2012
There is something liberating about getting "old."
There was a time when I actually cared about what you thought.
Now, not so much.
After I lost my keys, then my wallet, then my keys again, then ... you get the picture ... I started to use a fanny pack. Now I know where my stuff is.
And it's a big one! I used it in Ireland because we were touring and I needed stuff like my pass port, batteries, water. But once I got home, I didn't require it any more.
Wallet in pocket.
Passport put away.
Keys over there somewhere.
iPhone two floors away with the ringer off since Sunday or maybe in the car.
The other night one of the boys asked for some money (GET A JOB!) and I told him to go get my purse.
I said it out loud just like that, "Go get get my purse."
"It's not a purse. Men don't carry purses."
"Shut up and get my purse if you want my money which I don't have much of any way. Mom keeps me poor so other women won't be interested in me."
"Dad, you carry a purse. You call it a purse"
"I'm just sayin', lack of money isn't the only thing going to keep other women away. Pretty sure you carrying a purse is chick repellant enough."
"Shut up and get a job."
So, you got a problem with me carrying a purse?
Yeah, well, at least I know where my keys are. I think.