So Tom is a pal of mine. Our boys play sports together, our girls hang out and annoy each other during their brother’s sporting events, our wives get together over wine and talk about what schmucks we are. You know, the usual mid-life stuff.
Yesterday I’m rolling home from a park outing with my 3 kids when my 12 year old Evan, who it should be noted generally has trouble finding his ass with both hands, looks out the car window and says “Dad! Dad! Look! It’s Tom! It’s TOM!”
And sure enough, there’s Grinchy ol’ Tom, hunkered down in his low-grade minivan, tooling along Colorado Boulevard, as if he had been placed in our path SPECIFICALLY for my kid’s enjoyment.“Speed up, Dad! Speed up!! yells Lily the 9 year old.
“Dad! It’s TOM!”, says Jo Jo the 7 year old, as if to eliminate any possible confusion about who was in said minivan.
All of a sudden, it’s like I’m riding with the damn Cheech and Chong radio show.
Everyone’s saying the same exact thing over and over and over again in complete and TOTAL stoner type disbelief that….what? I dunno.
That Tom leaves his house, maybe?
That Tom knows how to drive?
That Tom exists in the greater universe outside of his back patio and our kid’s baseball games?
And as I’m weaving through traffic like some hell-bent Mario Andretti to road-wave a guy who we probably see every other week, a little light bulb goes on in my head.
When I come home from work on a daily basis, I’m power-ball style lucky if I even get a NOD from my damn kids.
No, “Hi Dad, how was your day?”
No, “Gee, Dad, thanks for working for the man so we can, you know, eat and wear clothes and fun shit like that.”
Nada. Zip. Zilch.
And then, there’s my friend TOM, who apparently is some combination of the second coming of Santa Claus, Jesus Christ, John Friggin’ Elway and Hannah Montana all rolled into one!
You know what I say to all this?
Screw you, TOM!
Next time my kids need something like…..I dunno….food…or clothes…or money or whatever….I’m going to show ‘em the above picture of TOM and tell them to go track his ass down to see if he can fulfill their never-ending requests.
Just because I’m bitter and insecure, doesn’t mean I’m stupid.