“Where Is It?” โ Why Nothing in This House Is Where I Left It
I've lost my keys, my wallet, my reading glasses and my will to live. She found all four in under a minute, without getting up.
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I've lost my keys, my wallet, my reading glasses and my will to live. She found all four in under a minute, without getting up.
It's 68 degrees. It's always been 68 degrees. It will be 68 degrees until the day I die, and then you can set it wherever you want, you animals.
She's old. She's loud. She's the wrong color for any decade. And she's the most loyal companion a man has ever had.
The library had Plato. I have a dog-eared trivia book with a coffee stain on page 41, and I've learned more on the throne than I did in four years of school.
I came to buy milk. I left with a part-time job, a criminal record in the bagging area, and an unexpected item I still can't explain.
Nobody gave us a handbook, so I wrote one. On the throne. In one sitting. Okay, two sittings. It was a big handbook.
Nobody in the history of mankind has had "one quick beer." It's a myth. It's a fairy tale. It's the Bigfoot of happy hour.
Somewhere right now, eleven grown adults are watching a man share his screen and fail to find the right tab. This is for them.
The eye rolls aren't failure. They're applause in a language teenagers haven't learned to speak yet.