Higher Power

There’s this bit from the Bob and Tom Radio show about getting on in years. I forget his name, but one the featured comedians notes that one of the signs of age is that when you’re checking out hot girls at the Food Court in the Mall, they run to security because there’s a creepy old guy looking at them. This is why I’m now publically declaring that when I pace the floor at Barnes and Noble, Borders, Starbucks, or an airport staring at your feet , I am not a frustrated late forties guy with an unsatisfied fetish or hoping to spy a reflection off polished leather. I am instead a frustrated middle-aged guy searching desperately for an outlet in which to plug in my laptop and feed my Facebook addiction, because the child has burned out the battery playing Civilization IV in the car, having named his four cities Hamburger, French Fires, McNugget, and Happy Meal, and hoping to build combat units called Big Mac and Mayor McCheese. (I understand he’s saving Filet-o-Fish for the first city he builds near the coast.)

Thank you in advance for your understanding.