North Star Writers Group

Now that I’ve turned 66 I’m taking my life to the next level. I’ve always been a conservative kind of guy. But now I’ve decided to make some serious changes in my lifestyle.

“Down with the middle of the road and up with a lifetime of fun, fun, fun!” I announced to my wife Sally the other afternoon when I walked into the house after work.

“Have you been drinking?” she shouted above the roar of the vacuum cleaner.

I reached over and turned off the vacuum.

“Noooooo way,” I replied. “But I have decided to make some drastic changes in my life. You are looking at a N-E-W Bob. . . and you¹d better get used to it.”

By the time Sally started talking to me again seven days later, I’d already taken the first dramatic steps to put more pizazz in my life.

The first thing I did was buy a yellow shirt. It’s the first yellow shirt I’ve ever owned, because I always tended to be ultra-conservative when it came to things to wear. I guess that’s why there are enough dark blue shirts in my closet to outfit a good-size fire or police department.

The yellow shirt was just a beginning.

Four days later I told my favorite barber to change my hairstyle. A week after that I found myself eyeballing new Harleys at a motorcycle dealership near my home.

Then my oldest son Bob telephoned from Pittsburgh.

“How are things?” he asked.

“Goin’ great,” I said, “Just great.”

“Mom called the other day and she told me you are acting kind of . . .well. . .um . . .peculiar,” he said. “Everything OK?”

“Everything,” I told him, “is just peachy. I’m merely making a few minor adjustments to my lifestyle.” I paused, then asked, “Do you like Harley-Davidson motorcycles?”

He was quiet for what seemed like a really long time, then he said, “Dad, should I come home right away so we can talk?”

I assured him I was fine. We exchanged goodbyes and he hung up.

“That was Bob,” I told Sally.

“What did he want?” she said, trying her best to sound innocent.

“He told me you called to tell him I was acting peculiar,” I explained.

After a pause, I added, “Have you mentioned it to the other three kids, too?”

“Yes,” she said, softly.

“You haven¹t mentioned it to anyone else, have you?” I asked.

“Of course not,” she replied.

Then, after several moments of silence, she said, “Except the mailman, the carry-out boy who took my groceries out to the car the other day, my boss, the next-door neighbor and two telemarketers who phoned the house last week.”

That made me so mad I didn’t even tell her about my plan to get a tattoo.

Click here to talk to our writers and editors about this column and others in our discussion forum.

To e-mail feedback about this column, click here. If you enjoy this writer's work, please contact your local newspapers editors and ask them to carry it.

This is Column # BB40. Request permission to publish here.