The boy is not happy. He came home in the wee hours of the night, long after the wife and I went to bed. This morning, just before eight o'clock, a crew armed with a Bobcat-mounted jackhammer started tearing the concrete in front of the house. It looks like it is our cul-de-sac's time for pavement repair. The boy's bedroom is in the front of the house.he is not happy.
So, I put in a load of laundry very early this morning. I was standing at the washer, waiting on the spin cycle to end when I felt something creeping along my arm. I looked down and the tickle was a trickle of bright red blood. My blood. It was oozing from a long scratch on my arm that had not been there a few moments before. How do you get scratched deep enough to bleed when standing still? How can a person not feel that scratch? Am I turning into one of those paper-thin skinned old men you see tottering through the grocery? Where do I buy one of those fishing hats anyway? I suppose I need me some high-waisted double-knit slacks.
Saturday I helped a friend roof his garage. It has been a long time since I spent a day swinging a hammer. Yesterday and today I am feeling the ache of seldom used muscles. Not so much in the arm, but the back of my thighs, buttocks and lower back. Getting up and down are a chore.
When did I turn into an old man?