Monday, November 30, 2015

Gone Girls

Fitting that tonight I will polish off the last of the turkey, thereby marking the official conclusion of our festive Thanksgiving celebration.

And what a celebration it was. For the first time in a long time we had both daughters --back from college-- sleeping under our roof.

The Empty Nest was no longer empty.  

Now, if by chance you think I'm going to launch into another long-winded, sentimental, weepy piece about the joys of fatherhood and the longing for an earlier time when I would happily change their diapers often filled to the brim with some mysterious brownish, greenish, yellowish poop, think again.

I've courageously explored my softer side and exposed my emotional underbelly to readers of Round Seventeen in the past only to be resolutely rebuffed.

"Why don't you go back to writing something angry about advertising?"

"Who was the guest author today?"

"I think you were funnier when you were fat."

Moreover, there are professional consequences. Those type of mushy posts only serve to weaken the Rich Siegel Brand. You see, agencies call me when they need to hawk some cars or beer or sneakers or even some fried tortilla chips that can be "enjoyed and experienced in a communal setting conducive to the generation of sharable moments." They're looking for hard-hitting, straightforward thinking and writing that appeal to Joe Sixpack and Betty Bag O'Donuts.

What they're not looking for is some teary-eyed 44 year old father who can't keep it together because his girls abandoned him and hopped on a plane to Seattle. Or Denver.

In any case they're gone now. And the evidence of their departure couldn't be clearer.

The beds are made.
There's no toothpaste in the sink.
The snotty tissues from Abby's sinus infection are nowhere to be seen.
The Volvo has been tucked away at the back of the driveway.
The lights are not on, the heat is not escaping from open doorways and the house is no longer ringing from my rhetorical questions ("Do you guys think I'm made of money?")

And it's quiet.




Thankfully, they'll be back in three weeks.

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