Antics

Mary claims not to like my antics. That’s what she calls them, antics.

Now, before you start thinking I’ve done something awful, let me explain to what she refers. What Mary calls antics has to do with the occasional bit of goofiness which I consider to be one of the stellar parts of my personality.

If I do a Tarzan yell while driving, to Mary that’s annoying. What I call exuberant, she considers disruptive. If I do a stupid dance step- and, oh yes, I do knowing my dancing is stupid – instead of chuckling, she rolls her eyes and lets loose a sigh. If I draw a happy face on my belly, she won’t even look. C’mon - who doesn’t like a happy face belly?

These are all things I used to reliably get our daughters to laugh and I expect them to be in my repertoire when it comes time to entertain grandchildren. And in order to use these techniques, they have to remain doable.

When I sang for pennies, the most critical thing was always having your best material ready to go, when and as needed. Which meant continually rehearsing so that the material remained fresh, subject to instant recall and performance.

So what I wish Mary would understand is that when I give out with a particularly resonant belch or I speak with an unidentifiable accent, I’m not doing it to annoy her but rather, I’m doing my part to ensure we’re ready to be great grandparents. Which I would think she’d applaud rather than telling me in her most disapproving voice to please…just…stop.

The woman just does not appreciate my efforts on our behalf.

(NOTE to readers: I corrected a misspelling in this posting long after it was posted. I know that's probably against the Bloggers' Code, but it was driving me crazy. Sorry.)