The List

So, I was talking to my buddy Terry at work the other day. Yes, I do work, remember? Terry gets a little too close when we talk, but other than that he’s a good guy. I was obviously real busy trying to finish a project, but that’s never stopped Terry from starting an inane conversation. And he’ll keep going even if you don’t participate. It’s a gift. Or a curse.

Anyway, all I’m hearing (by choice) is “So blah blah blah…” But then I hone in on him saying, “…is without a doubt the best TV comedy ever.” Now I’m angry. I don’t want to say what show he mentioned because I’m about to crap all over it. I start listing my favorites, i.e. the BEST TV comedies ever: “The Dick van Dyke Show,” “Get Smart,” “Seinfeld,” “Everybody Loves Raymond,” “Hank.” Yeah, yeah, no one remembers “Hank,” but I loved this show. That’s for another time.

Terry finally redeems himself by mentioning “The Honeymooners.” A classic. But then he says this: “Man, those were simpler times, huh? They had so much free time. Must be because they had no computers.” Terry’s all proud of himself. Until I scream, “NO KIDS!!! They had no kids, Terry. That’s why! Are you friggin’ kidding me?!”  Terry didn’t even blink. He is so used (bored?) to these rants by me. Terry has no kids. And no wife. Something he lauds over me every Monday when he tells me what nasty thing he did with some unbelievably hot chick on Saturday night. When he started doing this ten years ago, I was so jealous and would beg him for details so I could live vicariously. But now I’m so tired on Monday from my weekends that I don’t have the energy to be jealous. And I miss that. I WANT to be jealous. But the super-crazed, hyper-scheduled weekends have robbed me of that joy. And at that moment I decided to ask myself: “How?” How did this happen? My father never drove me anywhere on the weekends. Never came to one of my Little League games. Okay, I didn’t play Little League, but he wouldn’t have come if I did. The weekend was his time to relax and not be bothered. That’s because he worked like a dog all week, and my mother was home with us. She had the worse job, of course, but that didn’t matter back then.

But now. NOW. Women work. Or have worked. And that has changed everything. Now women bring their business experience into the home. They make schedules for our kids like “Playdate with Timmy at 10:00. Get into an argument over the greatest football player ever at 10:17. Call Dad for a ride home at 10:18. Leave Timmy’s 10:27.”

You hear that? Call Dad. Not Mom. Dad. That’s me. So I ask, “How did this happen?!” And so I’ve decided to compile a list. A list of what has happened since our fathers’ generation that has ruined our lives. Number one on that list? Women work. That’s all I got so far. But I know there’s more. You got anything? Anyway, Terry’s still talking so I’ve got to get back to not listening to him. It’s only Wednesday, but I still say “Thank god it’s Monday.”

Oh, and sorry about the picture up top. I was really hungry when I wrote this.

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4 Responses to The List

  1. Labor Pain Larry says:

    Mankind (yes MANkind) went to hell in a hand basket when we were told to stop giving out cigars and start “participating” in childbirth.
    Who wants to see that? And don’t get me started on cigars.
    Now that I’m married I have forgotten what cigars even smell like.
    How is THAT possible?
    Sorry, I have to go now…I have laundry that needs folding.

  2. Fold laundry? What are you? A husband? I have to do the same thing, but please don’t tell anyone. Do you fold the socks all the way in? Or just at the top? And what’s a cigar?

    • Labor Pain Larry says:

      Here’s another one.
      PLAY DATES.
      Who came up with this lame idea?
      My 3 year old already has a day planner (sorry, I’m too cheap to buy her an iPhone like the rest of the putz parents in my neighborhood).

  3. Labor Pain Larry says:

    Want one more for your list?
    Soccer.
    How has a sport that means NOTHING to 98 percent of all Americans become a cash cow business that is draining unwitting parents across this great land of ours of cash and precious weekend days (if not full weekends).

    Friend to me: “Larry, would you like to join me Saturday for a game of hoops.” (hey Larry is the only one that still looks good in those ’70’s shorty-short basketball shorts)
    Me to my friend: “Would love to, Friend, but I will be 300 miles out of town watching a coach not play my kid in a soccer tournament that cost me $85 for the tournament and $95 for the room, but thanks.”

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