Are you like me? Do you think I’m great? Well, I really have to agree with you on that one. But chances are, you think you’re pretty great, too. And you probably think a number of things you do are also great. I think that about myself, too. God, we’re great, aren’t we? Congratulations. You’ve earned it. In honor of all we’ve achieved, I wrote this list one-handed while the other was busy patting me on the back. Which, is in itself, quite an accomplishment, if I do say so myself. Tell your friends.
Emptying the Dishwasher. Did it without even being asked. What a wonderful husband I am. You know, honey, men of previous generations don’t do things like this. I’ve never once seen grandpa empty the dishwasher. Of course, he also fought on D-Day, but really, what good are honor and freedom if don’t even know where to put your ramekins when they’re clean?
Flossing. I rarely feel as big a sense of accomplishment as when I get a particularly large food chunk out while flossing. I’ll announce it to be sure that anyone within earshot knows of my not-at-all-disgusting flossing prowess. “Oh, look at that! That would have just sat in my gums and probably given me gingivitis from which I never would have recovered, if I had not had the foresight to attack it.” Then there is the post-flossing glow, where I look at my teeth in the mirror as though they’re going to instantly look healthier and then proceed to recap, usually for my wife. She’s a lucky woman.
Letting Another Car In. What a kind and benevolent soul I am. I could have pretended that I didn’t see that other motorist inching his way out, saving myself eight whole seconds on this commute. But no, that is simply not my way. Instead, I voluntarily waved him in. I wish that I had a passenger so they could see this. But alas, like the time I allowed pedestrians to cross the street instead of running them down, only I will know about this unprecedented act of…HEY! HOW ABOUT A THANK YOU WAVE, ASSHOLE?!
Killing a Bug. What’s this? A creature has entered the house? Step aside, I’ll handle this. You’ve disrupted our lives for the last time. This is about the point when, in my mind, I become John McClane, speaking aloud in pithy one-liners as I stalk the insect. (My wife—again, she’s very lucky—has been, for unknown reasons, thus far unwilling to play Reginald VelJohnson’s role of Sgt. Powell. I’ve tried to explain to her that roles like that only come along once in a lifetime. Unless you’re Reginald VelJohnson, in which case they come along every time you’re offered a part. But no dice.) “Oh hey, glad you could stop by, bug. Say, have you read today’s paper? Extra! Extra! ‘Bug killed by newspaper.'” Then—BOOM—bug juice everywhere. “Clean up on aisle wall.” I’m still working out some kinks in my catchphrases.
Finishing a Book. I’ll slam the book shut to announce it’s completion and then take a deep breath as I review the cover again. Yep, title is still the same. You know, I remember when I started this book. Didn’t even know the ending. But look at me now. It’s over. I really did it. And this one didn’t even have pictures. No one believed in me, but in the face of it all, I read words. I’ll probably do it again. I’m just such a voracious reader. I’m constantly reading: books, periodicals, road signs, emails, video game menu screens, text messages, dictionaries to look up the word “periodicals,” anything really.
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