FIVE JUMPS A WEEK

Yesterday my daughter e-mailed me AGAIN, asking why I didn't do something useful with my time.

"Like sitting around the pool and drinking wine is not a good thing?" I asked. Talking about my "doing-something-useful" seems to be her favorite topic of conversation.

She was "only thinking of me," she said, and suggested that I go down to the Senior Center and hang out with the fellows. I did this and when I got home last night, I decided to play a prank on her. I e-mailed her and told her that I had joined a Parachute Club. She replied, "Are you nuts? You are 84-years-old and now you're going to start jumping out of airplanes?"

I told her that I even got a Membership Card and e-mailed a copy to her. She immediately telephoned me and yelled, "Good grief, Dad, where are your glasses?! This is a Membership to a Prostitute Club, not a Parachute Club."

"Oh shit, I'm in trouble again," I said. "I really don't know what to do. I signed up and had them charge my credit card for five jumps a week for one year!!"

The line went dead.

Once in a great while, us old burn-outs can still have some fun.