Do we eat in? Or go out? Do I exercise? Or take a nap? Should I call so and so who I haven’t spoken to in a long time? Or should I wait until tomorrow? Pay the bills? Write that speech? All choices, none of them life or death. And when you get to a certain age you make the choice, chill out at home with my zillions of cable channels and streaming platforms, or babysit for our granddaughter? Now I’ve heard of some people that won’t babysit, even when their kids ask them to. That’s a choice. For my wife and I, when our daughter calls and asks us to babysit our granddaughter, we jump at the chance. She’s very entertaining, and we get to give her back at the end of the day. I’m guessing John feels the same way since he’s jetting off to see his daughter and granddaughter more times than I can count. But what about when something really cool and unexpected befalls you at the last minute. Something you didn’t plan for but are dying to do. Then you’ve got a conundrum. Not really, because if you promised you’d be there, you have to be there. On the other hand, how many more times are you gonna get a chance to see Bruuuuce? A few months ago, my favorite all-time band, Steely Dan, was playing an hour away from me and I asked myself, how many more chances will I get to see them? Either they’ll stop touring or I’ll stop being able to stay up past 11 pm. Point is (is there a point?) if I bought the tickets first and then came the request to babysit, then I’d probably go to the concert or the play, or the game. But if we give our word we’ll be there, then we’ll end up singing “Ricky Don’t Lose That Number” to our grandchild. True story: a relative recently left me her guitar. No sooner did I receive it than I ordered a book of children’s songs. I haven’t played in more than 40 years, but what the hell, Steely Dan here I come. Or at least Peter, Paul and Mary.

Our other topic was again about a choice. Marv made a choice to cook dinner. He also made a choice to not realize he had to first remove the stickers off the onions and peppers before he sliced said onions and peppers. Alright, if you want to get technical about it, he didn’t actually make a choice, he just forgot. In every relationship, people assume certain responsibilities. You cook, I’ll do the dishes. You take out the recycling, I’ll make the bed. The trouble comes when one person tries to do the other person’s task. It inevitably ends up with a “You’re doing it wrong!” kind of reaction. It might be subtle, like when my wife loads the dishwasher and I move the plates and glasses so we can fit more in, or when I make the bed, and she remakes it so it actually looks like it’s made. Oh well, you’ve got to give Marv a hand for at least trying. Don’t you? One of these days John will write the blog and I’ll illustrate the comic. On the other hand, I wouldn't hold your collective breaths.

Have a good weekend and we’ll see you next week.

Andy and John