A Crazy Quilt

Its August, the time when in my childhood, the old man would suggest, after howling "back to school" sing song at the top of his lungs, that I ready myself for the next academic year.

With four weeks until school began, he thought it would be wise that I study one hour a day in the first week, two the second, three the third, four the final.

I always smiled at this suggestion, said nothing out loud but silently wondered what fucking planet he thought we were living on.

This year, at this time in my life, in my fiftieth year of trying to figure out what its all about, I have a fifteen year old female teenager in the house, readying herself for a new academic year to be spent here full time.  Huh??  How did it get to this?  I'm 50, have never procreated and yet now I have someone sailing into the hormonal straits of teenage, girlism, under my roof and I have no idea what's going to hit next. 
Most days around here, once the dust has settled, I find myself standing alone in the kitchen repeating out loud:

"Ok, so what just happened here?"

Tomorrow, its been announced, we role play some critical service scenarios in order to sharpen our "think on the fly skills."  I'm hoping to get Richard the third as the irate call center customer.

"Hello, and how may I help you today?"

"Richard here.  I ordered a horse from you people a fortnight ago and it has yet to be delivered.  Must I ransom my kingdom?"

"I'm so sorry, but it seems your nephews put a stop payment on the check."

There's a race in a month I'm training for, so tonight it was off to the park on the bike.  An oasis of peace and tranquility until the freaking ice cream truck shows up with its inane repeating tinkle that would put the pied piper out of business.

One day I'm going to slip some Cialis into his vanilla and Mr. Softee will become Messr's Hardee and Stiffee and we'll replace the music with the theme from "Shaft."

Thanks for listening, bunny on.