Heyheyhey.

I had lunch with my parents on Friday, which is always a treat.

I was telling them about my roommate who in an effort to assume responsibility and control of her life, which she feels is careening recklessly down a path of workworkwork instead of balance, bought a plant as a test in nuturing and spending time to care for something. She also bought one for me. A not-so-subtle hint.

Shortly thereafter this home-ec quiz was initiated, my friend A. bought a dog in what he theorizes is a last ditch effort for him to grow up. A. thinks that a dog will prevent him from drinking every night and bring him home to peace and tranquility in his apt.

My roommate and I strongly discouraged this tactic. We felt it was extreme and unfair to drag a puppy into this flithy, hedonistic existence we all lead.

A. pointed out that my focus on moving out NYC to regain control of my life is extreme and the only rebuttal I had was that at least I'm not bringing a puppy down with me.

About a week after these events, my roommate was having a conversation with A and I overheard, "The plant's dying, return the dog." Click.

At this point in the story, my father started choking on his sandwich and had to stand up from the table and walk away to regain composure.

My parents have been married for 41 years this July. They are in their sixties. I am 29.

I would love to John Malkovich them. Just once, sit in their brains and hear what they are thinking about my life.

Sometimes I think they listen and watch me like I'm a sitcom.

That reminds me, my Dad also mentioned at lunch that our family would make a much better Osbournes.

He may be onto something. But I would insist on Pop Up thoughts in post production.

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