What seems to be the problem?
Actually, we’re really really busy. We’re working on several ideas to launch new careers while simultaneously keeping our old jobs alive and feeding us.
We’re also home schooling an 8 year old who suffers from delusions of descending from the Samurai (he’s white as white with green eyes), fears of spiders, ants, any flying insect (we live in the great out doors in Australia), and who has a basic fear of, well, everything.
It’s a bit of a juggling act.
It’s prompted Albert’s retirement dream.
The owner of his own chiringuito, selling cocktails to chicky babes in the Caribbean, while I’m cashing in at the Casino.
Hmmm…
He also envisions himself with long grey hair. And I can just see the chicky babes saying cheesy stuff like ‘yeah, you’re not too bad for an old guy’, and Albert unable to restrain his smug smile of ‘I know’.
Irritating.
Sometimes I feel like Lisa Simpson, her arms crossed, irritated and despondent over her brother’s stupidly successful and popular antics.
If I was going to retire, it would have to be by the beach. A great coast line… something like Byron, something like Costa Brava, something in between. A simple house, a great kitchen, out door living, warm temperatures, and yes, maybe I’ll have long hair too. It’ll be grey. I already have a few silver strands (Albert injects ‘ahh, its more than a few’ – yeah, what ever) I don’t want to dye it. It can flow behind me as I gaze over the beautiful coast line, the wind in my hair…and instead of chicky babes, I’ll have my Grandson say ‘you know, you’re not too bad for an oldie nan…’
