It's summertime. I have no plans. I spend my days on the recliner, with my laptop computer, BlackBerry, and TV remote, trying to write my first novel. Noon rolls around and I'm still here, on the recliner. Time for Looney Toons. Highlight of my day. My father whizzes by while running the vacuum and starts with the questions:
Q. When are you going to clean your room?
A. When I get around to it.
Q. When are you going to get up and take a shower?
A. Soon.
There's a Jewish holiday starting tonight -- Shavuot, I think -- so he feels the need to clean the apartment. Dusting. Vacuuming. Scrubbing. Shining. Why? He won't even be home for the holiday. He's staying at a friend's house that's within walking distance of temple, as our home is several miles away from where he attends services.
He's finished cleaning. He's sweating bullets and breathing heavily. "Is the air conditioner on?" he asks.
We live in south Florida. OF COURSE the air conditioner is on. "If you are warm, lower the thermostat," I said.
For someone who complains I never do anything around the house, and then who goes and does my share of the housework because "it needed to be done," he really needs to learn to relax. It's summer, for goodness sakes!
That reminds, me, Sylvester is trying to put a bell around the neck of a giant mouse...
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