Ah, yes. Behold, dear readers. Gaze upon the splendor that is my life. Come on, don’t be shy — there’s enough splendor for everyone. Gather ’round.
I’m currently sitting at my desk in the home office. It’s a few minutes after 11pm. I’ve been home for about a half an hour. My wife is in the guest room, still working away. The dog, as usual, is curled up on a blanket, sleeping.
While I’m writing this post, I’m finishing my dinner. It consists of takeout Chinese food leftovers from a couple of nights ago. To get my plate of food on my desk, I had to move the cereal bowl from which I ate last night’s dinner — at my desk, at just about the same time of night.
Really, can a visit from the folks at Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous be far behind? I can just see Robin Leach now, sweeping through our house with a camera crew:
‘And this opulent extravaganza is known as the ‘guest room’. Here, we see the lady of the manor, decked out in her ‘jammies’, with papers and folders strewn all around her on a bed fit for the heads of state of any impoverished Third World country. How does she keep up with it all?
Now, let’s move to the ‘office’, where the money really flies. This is where the deals are wrangled, the stakes are high, and bluffers are sent to the poor house. Or it’s where the bills are paid online, and Charlie spends his time playing video games and making up ridiculous scenarios like this one. Either way, it’s simply breathtaking!‘
Meh. And to top it off, I’m all sweaty, too, from playing volleyball. (Hey, at least I wasn’t at work all night — only until seven or so. My life’s not that crappy!)
Now I have to decide whether to really sink into the depths of squalitude and just hit the sack, all smelly and funky, or risk taking a shower while I’m so near exhaustion. Anything could happen in there at this point — I might slip and fall, or accidentally eat my washcloth, or have something unspeakable happen with the loofah. It’s a jungle in there, people. A steamy, hot, watery jungle. And I’m scared. Somebody hold me.
All right, I’m just kidding. Not about the ‘hold me’ thing — hey, no man is an island, right? — but about most of the other showery stuff. I almost never eat my washcloth, accidentally or otherwise, and we don’t even own a loofah.
(Though I wish we did, because that would lead to more Caddyshack quotes in the shower. And you can never have too many Caddyshack quotes in the shower, folks. Not if you’re the Cinderella Boy!
What? Nothing? Aw, come on — look, the golf course was called ‘Bushwood’, fer chrissakes. It’s practically begging to be recited in the bathroom. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you people have homes?!)
(Hee! There’s another one. Oh, the fricking fun we have.)
All right, what the hell was I talking about, anyway? Oh, the shower. Sure.
So, anyway, I was bluffing — there’s no way in hell my wife would let me near the bed with this kind of funky sweat stank. And she’s getting ready to hit the sack herself, so I’d better go lather up and get to it. And then it’s off to bed, and another full day of long, dreary meetings, punctuated by sleepy stints in my desk chair at work, staring at my monitor screen.
Oh, do try not to be jealous, won’t you? Not everyone can be on top. But if you eat your vegetables, and say your prayers every night, and never pick your nose or kick homeless people when nobody’s looking, or secretly think about what the people you’re talking to look like naked, then you too can… um, well, if you do all that, then I’m not really sure where you’ll end up, frankly. Probably locked in a tiny little room with an overzealous priest, I’m afraid. But if you do only one or two of those things, and blithely ignore the rest, then you might just wake up one day and find yourself with a glorious, glamorous life like mine. Live the dream, baby — live the dream. Adieu!Permalink | 3 Comments