When you were a kid, did you read about someone and thought to yourself: "That's what I want to be when I grow up"? Sure, we all did. Only, instead of being a baseball or football player, I wanted to be like Hugh Hefner. "Hefner?" you ask, "Like the guy who started Playboy?"
Yeah, that guy. I may go into more detail about that in another post (remind me), but I remember thinking: "What a lifestyle - this guy can wander about his house (the Playboy Mansion) in his pajamas and a robe, might have a Playmate sitting on his lap, and a couple more scantily clad young ladies having a pillow fight in the background. No schedule, other than a magazine deadline, but he has people to deal with that."
And, I realized today, how close I have come. Well, except for that pajamas and robe thing - I don't wear pajamas and I don't own a silk robe; OK, I don't own any kind of robe. I didn't have a schedule today, so I was able to wander around the house (Rufus thinks its a mansion after being in the motorhome) this morning (in sweatpants and a sweatshirt), not accomplishing much of anything (I did get in a nap right before noon). I got out of the bathtub around 1:30 pm, shaved and brushed my teeth, then went out to my easy chair. Instead of a Playmate on my lap, I have a big ol' furry feline... and instead of scantily clad females nearby, there is a pretty Blonde (dressed in a sweater and jeans because it's only going to get to 60º today) working on a jigsaw puzzle.
So, almost exactly the same... except for those few details I mentioned. But, about the same. Mostly.
Well, if we decide to sell this house and move to somewhere warmer (I have no idea where that might be), I'm hoping Joan won't put a clause in the sales contract that "Jim gets to live in the house until he dies." The way Hefner went out. Yeah, I think I'm over that whole thing... mostly because once I got there, I figured out I really didn't want to be a grown-up.
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