This Business Of Retirement...

     ...is proving to be a bit more complicated than I expected.

     First, there’s that whole getting-out-of-bed thing. It used to be so automatic. So effortless! Now it seems to require the assistance of a crane. Well, perhaps all I need is practice.

     Then there’s the work with the animals. I don’t remember them being nearly this demanding. I can’t step away from the dogs without igniting a fury of yipping, barking, and ceremonial dancing. The cats are no better; when I cease petting them, they extend their previously cute little paws and sink their claws into my arm. Clearly, this must be made to cease, but how?

     Getting the C.S.O. out the door – no, she hasn’t retired, and says at every opportunity that she intends never to do so, ever – is a multi-stage process, too. I never participated in her choices of garb, jewelry, or perfume before this; why does she expect it now? And since when is it my responsibility to see to it that she has all her required baggage in the car before she embarks?

     But once those chores are behind me, the real fun begins. Straightening up – I never realized before this just how untidy we are, or how profligately the animals shed. Maybe the exhaustion of a day’s work blinded me to it. This very morning I picked three dog hairs off the couch alone. I must speak to Rufus and Sophie about this. (Yes, to both of them: the hairs were that nondescript gray that conceals the identity of the offender.) But my labors didn’t end there, oh, no. Just how long had we gone without arranging the contents of the freezer by principal ingredient and volume? And why have we neglected to label the kitchen drawers and cabinets, so we could easily locate the items we need? What laziness!

     The lawn is a disgrace. Innumerable leaves of grass out there are 15% higher than the Ortho-approved standard. Either my lawn tractor is going seriously out of spec, or it was never in-spec in the first place and I hadn’t noticed. I’ll have to see to the deviants with a cuticle scissors.

     Why can’t the mailman be precise about his deliveries? Yesterday it was 12:45. The day before it was 12:37. And the day before that it was 1:15. Don’t these people know how hard it is to live an orderly existence when the mail is desynchronized from everything else? It could make a man cranky.

     Well, at least the major items are out of the way for the morning. I suppose I can kick back for a while now, perhaps do a little reading...but...what’s this? The traffic cameras have revealed a pothole on the LIE, just west of exit 57? Dear God, there’s simply no rest for the weary. I’ll get back to you later, Gentle Reader.

     (Now where did I leave the bag of asphalt patch and the heavy tamper?)