Dear Diary …
I ain’t a rich man. So I don’t have a bunch of money laying around that I can waste and not worry about. Now don’t get me wrong, I ain’t poor. I’m fortunate to have what I have. But I tell you what … I’m eventually gonna end be poor after I’m done buying batteries for my kids’ toys.
Oh my God … everything needs a battery. Oh I’m sorry … batterIES … two, three, four, ten. And it’s not even size proportionate. My son has this little choo choo train … fits in the palm of your hand. Four batteries! The thing is the size of four batteries … so really it’s just a plastic train sitting over the top of FOUR batteries. And naturally, no matter how many batteries are in the toy, you know how long they last? Two seconds.
“Uh oh .. Thomas broken. Daddy you have battery?”
Diary … I counted … in a two week period, I put 22 batteries into kids’ toys. 22! Now I don’t know if you knew this or not, but batteries aren’t exactly cheap. I’m gonna go broke! And I’ll be penniless, and when you see me, sitting on the sidewalk … homeless … all dirty and wearing raggedy clothes … panhandling. You’ll say … what happened to you? Drugs? The war? Nope … batteries!
That and bubbles. Do your kids play with bubbles? Mine do. And they burn through those stupid containers. And by “burn through” I do mean “use a tiny bit and then spill the rest on the ground.”
“Daddy you have more bubbles?”
No Daddy doesn’t have more bubbles! Daddy’s gonna go broke gettin’ you bubbles.
Who knew soapy water cost so stinkin’ much?
This is why I drive a 17 year old car. I spend all my money on batteries and bubbles.
OK fine … moving on Diary … I don’t know if you knew this about me, but I don’t like being told what to do. I like to decide what to do. YOU don’t decide what I do. I do.
Like for example … These people who send you emails with uppity messages at the end of them “Please think before you print this message.”
Don’t you get all preachy with me, email … If I wanna print you, then I’m gonna print you.
And you know what? Now that you’re trying to tell me what to do, I’m DEFINITELY printing you. Twice. Don’t even need it, but you’re not gonna dictate to me what I can and can’t print.
I just dfon’t like going along with everybody else. You know what Diary … I might as well go on a gluten-free diet, cuz I’m against the grain, baby!
So the moral of the story here … if you want me to do something … you better either let me come up with it on my own, or at the very least, present in a way where you trick me into thinking it was my idea in the first place. That’s how my wife does it.
But if you tell me what to do? Nope … not doing it! Even if I wanna do it. Even if doing the opposite is going to negatively effect me. I’m doing it anyway!
Does it make sense? Nope. Do I care? NOPE!
Till next time Diary, I say goodbye.