The Plan

This morning, I found myself standing on the roof with Justin and Ethan, debating about the best way to simultaneously defy death and bring about a successful end to my pruning project.  One thing was certain, all current plans ended with a trip to the emergency room and I was seriously considering searching the Yellow Page listings for acrobatic gardening troupes.

I had just sent a text to my best friend to see if he would be able to drop by and help.  My thinking was that, either we would be able to make a go of it together or, our wives would be able to save money on a double burial.

As I finished outlining the most reasonable and least catastrophic plan with the boys, Justin turned to me.

"Please don't die.  You're my only dad."

The explanation of how one or more of us would most likely be dragged or catapulted off the roof by the rebounding branch was still fresh in the air.

"Thanks," I said.

"You would be hard to replace.  Dads are not easy to rent.  There are a lot of forms," he continued.

At that moment, the telephone in my pocket began to ring.  There I stood, on the roof with my sons,  talking on the telephone.  What?!  I do that every Friday morning.  When I hung up the phone a minute later, I found myself in the middle of what was evidently a conversation about ways to prevent my wife from remarrying after my imminent demise.

"Here's what we can tell them," Justin said to Ethan, referring to her potential suitors.  "She was married seven times before and all of the guys ended up buried in the basement, decapitated."

"She likes to eat cats," he added.

"She doesn't like puppies," Ethan chimed in.

Well done boys.  I always say, it's good to have a plan.  Best of luck.

- 15 June 2012