Confessions of a middle-aged man

If I had it to do over, I’d be a taxidermist.

My father was my best man. Still is.

I possess an extraordinary knowledge of “toe thumbs,” which one of my children possesses.

I smell practically everything, from the pages of a new book to tonsil stones.

I have broken a couple of hearts, never a bone.

My idea of living dangerously is mixing darks and lights in the wash.

I puked before every high school basketball game, my daughter before every high school vocal contest.

I own a company record of which I am not proud — slammed phone receivers.

Lawn jockeys terrify me.

Nothing is more unattractive than negativity.

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