the twenty-three year-old is getting married.
Where did my freaking life go? If I’m lucky, I probably have 20-30 years left. Then I’m out of here. See ya! Bye-bye! No more Ronald J. Goralski.
Well that’s a little depressing, don’t you think? Life is way too freaking short. Why couldn’t we have another one hundred years tacked onto it? If the normal lifespan was one hundred and seventy-five years, we’d be able to get so much more done.
People aren’t ready to die in their seventies or eighties. But by your one hundred and seventy-fifth year, I’m quite sure you’d have had your fill of this place.
Anyway… where was I? Oh right… MY BABY IS GETTING MARRIED IN A YEAR! I still remember when she was this crazy little girl that I’d hold and gently rub the space between her eyes (thank God that gap narrowed with age).
One day soon we’ll have to take a trip down memory lane and reminisce about the twenty-three year-old.
OK I’ll share one of my favorite stories right now. When the little darling was threatened with her life not to get her tongue pierced, she went and did it anyway. But she was so darn creative in how she pulled it off. Apparently, (as a fifteen year-old at the time) she needed parental approval. So she and her friends paid a homeless drunk five or ten bucks to walk in and say he was their father.
Isn’t that just so freaking cute?