A note to my parents,
Since I've been out of your house permanently for six months, with no regularly-occurring returns home for "breaks," "weekends," or "I didn't feel like paying to do my own laundry," some things have become remarkably apparent to me. The most obvious being this: You are in denial. Your son moved out of the house four years ago, and six months ago, you watched as your only daughter, the one that you secretly liked better all along even though she is going to make substantially less money than your son, moved 1,000 miles away. You miss your beloved children so much, you hardly know what to do with yourselves. You are empty-nesters and you've never been so bored or lonely in your whole lives. To fill that huge void that was created, you've been filling your lives with "stuff," vacations, and pets. You've turned our basement - once filled with mementos from OUR CHILDHOOD - into a virtual home gym, putting in an elliptical machine, one of those strength training devices, and yoga mats. You've moved the La-z-boy recliner into my bedroom and turned my bookshelves into a Republican Resource Library (I know this only because I got one of your Grand Opening fliers in the mail). You bought yet another puppy. I'm pretty sure you've given it my car - and it doesn't even have a permit yet! You book tickets for two-week-long cruises around the Caribbean. You even replaced the sections of newspaper that have been functioning as drapes in our living room for four years with actual curtains. It's clear you are upgrading. What I'm trying to say is that you still haven't been able to fill that lingering emptiness you are experiencing. And do you know why? Because we're not replaceable. You'll find out relatively soon - we all do. Most likely it will happen when you open my bedroom closet door to move in the new dog's collection of sweater vests and ear muffs, and are assaulted by a barrage of laundry that has been there since junior high school. Once you wipe the tears from your eyes (you are crying because you realize I haven't done laundry in six years), you will realize that I can't be replaced by expensive fitness equipment, romantic cruises, or Tivo'd episodes of Boston Legal. Then you will plead with me to move back in, and give me the keys to the car.
P.S. Can I move back in now? I'd love to have my own elliptical.