I'm a happily married, boring guy who likes to blend in. I'm 67 years old (the last time I looked) and I try to act my age. I have a Grade 8 education with a B+ in geography. I bank my money. I have grey hair. I was in Grade 3 when JFK was shot. I was 12 when the Leafs last won the Stanley Cup. My car is a Toyota Highlander. It blends in well and doesn't cause a fuss, just like the driver. I part my hair. I vote Liberal but don't admit it. I wear sensible leather shoes, polished, and sleeveless undershirts without irony...or ironing! My kids yawn in my face. I eat pizza with a knife and fork. I wear slippers in the house. Any dog I've ever owned won't come when I call it. Watching paint dry is more exciting than my life. You probably think I'm kidding... I'm not
I'm kinda shallow and uninteresting. Anything written above grade school level is 'way, 'way over my head. During the day, I work my monotonous job, then go home to my lacklustre bungalow and have a drink with my loveable wife of over 30 years. The poor woman! she must get restless, suffering day after day, in silence, living with her dreary, boring husband, but she loves me too much to say anything. At least, I think she does. Even after all these years, I can't tell. I wonder sometimes why she hasn't left me for greener pastures. She seems to like TV shows with desert islands and younger men in bathing suits...which begs the question: do you think she's contemplating a fling? Don't answer. However, I do have a wild side....I just suppress it. For example, when the mood strikes, I release the inner gonzo by putting premium gas in my car, then driving around with the sunroof open, playing Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass! I know, right? And in order to keep up with younger men, I'm experimenting with yoga as a route to enlightenment, flexibility and inner peace. This weekend, if the weather's nice, I'll vacuum my car.
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