I hope you don't mind, but it's time to sound like an old guy.
Please read on, though, because a lot of you are also old, and if you aren't, this could prove useful. It doesn't hurt to look ahead a little, because as our good friend Russ Wilson likes to say, "The separation is in the preparation."
At age twenty-one, a lot of us would've proven grossly incapable of predicting our lifestyles thirty years down life's unpaved road. I'm pretty sure if I hopped into the DeLorean, sped back to 1984 and asked a certain college junior for a couple of prognostications, it would be clear where the term "shallow pond" was derived.
Here's what I mean:
So, twenty-one-year-old Tim, what type of car do you picture yourself driving in thirty years?
Wow, that's a long time. That's totally after the year 2000, right?
Yes, that would be 2014.
Hell, then, I don’t know. It won't be an American car or a minivan, that's for sure. A moped would be sweet, or one of those new Camaros.
Right, but they won't be new in thirty years.
This is boring.
Okay, well, just to let you know, you will In fact drive a minivan. It will be manufactured in Korea, and your daughter will call it "Kiath."
That's bizarre. I'm having a daughter?
Yes, two, actually.
I don't want two daughters. How old are they?
One is a college freshman and the other is in eighth grade.
Listen, man, my fraternity is having a party tonight and I'm pretty sure there will be a few freshman girls hanging out. Thanks for making me think of them as my daughters, ass wipe. I must rise above this.
Hang on a sec, I need to turn down the stereo. It's hard not to crank Sister Christian on these sweet woofers I just got from Speakerlab. You like Night Ranger, old man?
Yes.
Hey! You're not as crusty as you look. What else did you want to ask me? I need to run down to 7-11 for some Copenhagen.
Okay, I'll be quick. How about cooking—who will do most of the cooking for your family in thirty years?
I don't know, man. It might just be like the Jetsons where you just push a button and boom—piping hot lasagna. But if that's not the case, if my wife cooks four nights a week, I don't mind ordering pizza the other three. My kids would appreciate it, I'm sure. Gross, did I just say "my wife" and "my kids" in the same sentence? Freaking shoot me.
What if I told you that you'll be the primary grocery shopper and cook for your family? How about if your wife is a fifth grade teacher who works harder than Chris Christie's heart?
Who's Chris Christie? That's a stupid name.
It doesn't matter. You just need to know that your wife will be such a dedicated educator that a couple of times, you'll wonder if she's actually spending an hour before school and three afterward, playing 21 Jump Street with Johnny Depp.
Who's Johnny Depp? That's a stupid name.
Well, he's merely the love of your wife's life, a youthful bad-boy actor who smells of Lucky Strikes and pieces of eight.
Huh?
Never mind. Listen, I'll let you go, but here's some more food for thought. You've actually gotten a couple of recipes from a naked guy at the YMCA.
What? What's wrong with you?
Sorry, let me explain. You'll often see this guy in the locker room after your morning workout.
Hey, man, the words "morning" and "workout" should never be used together.
Anyway, he's into cooking and he's usually naked when relating recipes to you. You're occasionally nude as well.
Holy shit. Time for you to leave, Uncle Perverick. What the hell recipe did this wanker give you—pulled pork?
Umm, well, yes.
Get your ass out of my bean bag chair and hit the street before I grab my numchucks, got me?
Will do. Take care, clueless colt.
That didn't go well. Hopefully after this experiment, you won't hate yourself like I apparently do.
