My apologies to Albert King for butchering the lyrics to his song Born Under A Bad Sign wherein he laments that “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all”. How true! The Wife went out of town with a girl friend (not like in a gay girl-friend, just one of her female friends; of course if ya watch enough Project Runway you’ll find that term can easily apply to both men and women). So, I was left home alone for three days, and because all her friends knew she was going somewhere, We didn’t get a bunch of phone calls that weekend. Except…for Robo calls (guess they didn’t know). I did get one actual call, from a telemarketer. Who I asked, “Are you a Robo call?” When she replied, “Do I sound like a Robo call?”, I said “Yeah”, whereupon she hung up.
Being home alone when you’re 72 isn’t like “It’s party time!” And it’s definitely not like the movie about the kid who’s parents forgot about him and left him behind alone to fend off burglars (although if too much herbal medication is consumed paranoia can creep in and make ya wonder if every strange noise ya hear is a home invasion and all I’m stuck with to fight them off is my measly cane). I do get to play my music as loud as I want, and watch watch whatever ‘evil’ (meaning not a Hallmark Christmas movie) television show that I want. Big problem is, after two nights all the left-overs are gone and the carton of ice cream was nearly empty. That means cooking, and with cooking comes dish washing, and I like to keep my dish washing down to one utensil, a coffee cup, and maybe a bowl if I can’t microwave the container of leftovers.
Being home alone is okay once in a while, but I wouldn’t wanna do it all the time. It could get lonely. But at least I’d have Robo calls.