Old Fogie

Sometimes I'm happy that no one has the superpowers to read my mind yet because my mind tends to ramble off on it's own about ridiculous things.

Like today.

When I decided that I wanted a pet crow.

Because they're very smart birds, of course.

But not until I was like 75.

That way the neighborhood kids would think I was a witch.

Because I'd have dyed my hair blue. Or green. Or hot pink.

And I'd have a pack of attack dachshunds.

And because Mike (being a retired engineer of course) would have set up a number of contraptions around our home that the kids would mistake for boobie traps.

And of course, some of them would be boobie traps.

For those meddling kids.

And maybe we'd catch a pudgy one as he was trying to fulfill his childhood obligations of a double-dog-dare to ring the doorbell and run.

And we'd call his parents. And bring him inside to wait for them.

But in the meantime, his friends watching would think we were turning him to stone with one of our contraptions.

But we'd win him over with all the amazing tricks our pet crow and pack of attack dachshunds can do and he wouldn't want to leave.

But to maintain our fearsome status, we'll make him swear an oath of secrecy.

So when he gets out and sees his friends, he won't say anything, but he'll know we're cool and his friend will think we wiped his memory.

Or that he's a pod person.

Because when I'm 75, I'll be living in a 1980's adventure movie.

See.

Could you imagine the embarrassment of someone being able to listen to that entire thought process on the elevator down to the first floor? You'd think I was insane.