Final Signs I’m Not Much Of A Man, Part 4

You knew there must be more, didn’t you.

I don’t own a pocket knife or a gun. I don’t play pool or watch car races. I won’t play shirts and skins basketball. I don’t tell dirty jokes, and I cringe at foul language. I don't gossip.

I like quiche, spinach, and yoghurt. I don’t like steak, onion rings, or hot wings.

I button my shirts up to my neck. I like wearing a tie. I like bolo ties. I like shopping, except at the mall. I’ve never worn penny loafers with shorts and without socks. I own no shoes with tassels.

I don’t use whitening strips. I don’t go tanning. I drive under the speed limit. I don’t rev my engine at lights. I have never peeled out in my car, and I can’t ride a wheelie on a bike. My bike is a red, one-speed, retro Schwinn with big tires and a wide seat, with a milk crate bolted to the back. I haven’t chopped wood as an adult.  I mow my own yard but I’ve never changed my own oil. 

I cry watching The Parent Trap, both versions, and I feel bad for that actress, how she turned out so far, but I can’t think of her name. I would rather have carry out Chinese on the couch with my wife and a Meg Ryan movie than anything else, except maybe watching The Backyardigans with one of my granddaughters. There isn’t much better than having everyone in the house on the bed late at night, talking and laughing.

I made fun of my dad for years that he was Chevy Chase in that Vacation movie, but now I realize that it’s me wanting to show the kids the biggest ball of yarn in the world. Before they’re all gone.

Man oh man.

Read Part 1.

Read Part 2.

Read Part 3. Tell us what you think....

Where Did This Old Man In My House Come From?

I don't know whether I'm getting mixed signals or sending them.

I drove our sporty red Jeep Wrangler the other day, listening to the end of a book on CD. Reluctantly, I flipped stations on the radio, finally settling on Only Yesterday by Karen Carpenter. The familiar lines about pain and waiting and hope made me cry.

Then there was a commercial for a place selling catheters. I was probably the only man in town driving a cool Jeep and crying to the Carpenters, wondering whether 200 catheters a month was an ample supply.

I call my wife the "hot chick in a red Jeep," which she is, but suddenly I've become the guy who watches the Weather Channel and wonders if one of those Medical Alert devices is a good idea.

Somehow, I’m eligible for a discount at iHop, but I’m too tired to go. Carry-out Chinese and a Meg Ryan DVD appeal far more than a night on the town.

I wear sweater vests at work, not because they are so good looking, but because I get cold during the day. For some reason, the television is much too loud when someone turns it on after me.

How has this happened?

I still listen to The Beatles and watch Monty Python's Flying Circus. I still play basketball and a little tennis.

I still dance with my wife in the kitchen, and with my granddaughter all over the house. I still wear Levi's and Converse All Stars, lime green, no less, so I wonder how this has happened.

Where did this old man in my house come from?