As I sit here reflecting on my life (and shoving eggs, hash browns, and coffee into my face), I realized that turning forty-five this morning means that I completely failed my eight year old imagination. According to my eight year old self by this time I was supposed to have giant grey beard, eye patch, live on an old boat, and wear nothing but “Gorton Fisherman” clothes. Where did I go wrong? I feel like I owe my eight year old imagination an apology. The beard and long hair thing will never happen “Sorry Bud, you should have looked a little closer at the family tree, because back hair seems to have edged out regular hair long ago”. I do wear rain gear, but only because I live in the rain forest part of the country now. The eye patch however is still an option. Once I get a chance to buy a new BB gun, I’ll get right on that part of your 37-year-old premonition/little kid writing assignment.
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