Remember that episode of The Wonder Years where Kevin is in a poetry class with Denise “the Grease”, who is addicted to Jonathan Swift even though she’s about as smart as doo doo is sterile, and somehow manages to come between her and her boyfriend Frank “the Stank”, who has enough Brylcreem in his Johnny Locks to power NORAD for the next three millennia, until he serenades her at the drive-thru with Bobby Darin’s “If I Were a Carpenter” only to find out the reason she was trippin’ was a pregnancy scare? My life is kinda like that minus EVERYTHING I just said.
One last thing…
In Luther Vandross’ “A House Is Not A Home”, he sings…
A chair is still a chair, even when there’s no one sittin’ there.
But a chair is not a house and a house is not a home
When there’s no one there to hold you tight
And no one there you can kiss goodnight.
You’re right. A chair is NOT a house. It’s a goddamn chair. Unless you’re a hobo living inside a hollowed out ottoman.
