Day two of vacation in Chatham. I spent most of the day solo—my wife was doing her thing (those of you who know her, know what that means) and my kids were out and about with their friends. I’m running a 10K tomorrow so took the day off of exercise but did manage to walk both dogs separately. Reilly, the senior dog (she’s 13 so that’s about 1,000 years old in dog years), slept most of the day after her jaunt to the beach. Murphy and I, however, had a nice nighttime walk down by the shore where we saw a shooting star.
When did the cape become so damn judgmental?
It strikes me as odd that this was the highlight of my day. Of course if that didn’t happen the main event would have been the argument I got into with Karen, the deli person at Stop and Shop, when she started cutting the roast beef too thick. I like it thin, which I know means more forearm and shoulder work for Karen, but the customer is always right. Right? What can I say, I have a hard time relaxing on vacation.
I digress. When I saw the shooting star, Poison’s Look What the Cat Dragged In was playing in my ears. While I keep my exterior nice and tidy, my interior is a mess. If someone could look inside and see beyond the surface, look what the cat dragged in is exactly what they might proclaim.
As a self-employed individual, I worry a lot. The weight of the world (or my world anyway) is always on my shoulders. I have three kids going to college in just over a year, a bank that likes to be reimbursed monthly for the loan it gave me for my house, a health insurance premium that is north of what the bank requires for my mortgage, and a family that enjoys eating at least three meals a day (5.5 for my son). To say that I am overwhelmed is an understatement.
Here’s the thing, though, my sense of humor gets me through it all. I know that my constantly going for the laugh drives my wife crazy. She’s known to say, “Do you always have to be funny?” whenever I make a joke out of something. Put simply, the answer is yes, because if I don’t the alternative would be me crying in the fetal position or sucking my thumb while repeating, “baby steps to the mailbox,” whenever I go out to get the mail.
Humor is my go-to defense mechanism. It works for me. That might not be everyone’s cup of coffee, but it’s mine. By the way, I take it black, like my men.
