Lots of times, I hear people say, I am becoming my mother or, I sound just like my mother. Don’t get me wrong, I too am headed there. I hear myself say something to my kids and I can just picture myself being the recipient of said comment.
However, this is much more disconcerting. I am becoming my grandfather, Pops. Case in point, my home is stockpiled full of food. The only thing I am missing is the handwritten inventory taped to the panty door. If there were a major catastrophe, (God forbid!) I fear people would be running to my house for refuge because they know I have enough food to feed an army for about a year. I can’t help it. It’s a compulsion. Part of it comes from the couponing hobby and the rest of it? Who knows?
It gets worse! The other day, (part of me does not want to admit this) I was speaking to the tv. That’s right, as if the people I was watching could hear me. Pops does it all the time. He watches the judges every afternoon and insists on throwing out commentary for all to hear. I think he wants the judges to take his opinion to heart before they make a decision. While he was out here with us, it became endearing.
Now, it has become contagious. A few nights ago, I was watching Dancing with the Stars. (I am not a fan, I was just checking in to see who was still in it.) Lance Bass was dancing with his partner. (I am not a fan; I don’t know her name.) I tried to just sit back and watch without saying a word, but the desire to speak to him through the tv overtook me.
(Here's the rest of the story. I accidentally left it out!)
“Seriously, you were in a boy band! You are embarrassing them. Please, exit stage left before the train wreck gets any worse.” (Did I mention I am not a fan?)
As soon as the words escaped my lips, I knew exactly who I had become. Pops. The only things missing were some dentures and a trucker hat.