By Lee Pitts
To: Our adorable son
From: Your loving parents
Regards: Living arrangements
It dawned on your mother and I you just celebrated your 29th birthday and you’re still living at home. This is a problem.
By the time I was 29, I’d sired four kids, been divorced two times and had been in jail and rehab for six weeks. And your mother had put me through medical school by working two full-time jobs and still managed to raise the aforementioned kids.
Please don’t think we are complaining and criticizing you in any way, but we are feeding and clothing you, we pay the payment on your Lexus which is newer and nicer than what your mother or I drive, and you use our Mastercard for all your incidentals including tattoos and nose rings.
Your earrings are far nicer than any your mother owns. The problem is the family business has been a little slow lately, so we can no longer afford to spoil you in the style to which you’ve become accustomed.
We know you’ve been through a rough patch after the girl you met on the internet from Sweden (who you never actually met in person) broke off your engagement, but would it be too much to ask of you to at least make your own bed?
We feel like we have been more than patient. We never complained about paying all your expenses for those seven years while you got a degree in Greek mythology, but we are concerned when all you do all day is play video games, stare at your phone while texting God knows who and buy expensive Japanese swords on eBay with our PayPal account.
We know you feel lost and are trying to “find yourself” but might we suggest a good place to start looking would be in the “Help Wanted” ads in the newspaper?
It’s time to bounce back and get back in the game, son. There are other women you don’t know on the internet you might like.
We are also a little concerned you’ve been using mascara and lipstick, are wearing plush velour jogging suits from Nordstrom with tasseled loafers and no socks and when you’re not going to pasta tastings and wine cruises, you are watching inordinate amounts of HGTV.
Honey, please see our side. It’s not like we can send you to your room for not eating your peas and we can’t wash out your mouth with soap for using the F-word in every sentence, but the really loud rap music you insist on playing is making the dog psychotic and killing the goldfish.
We know you’ve never had a job before and are counting on inheriting your mother’s and mine fortune, but we’re planning on living until we’re 90 which would make you 70 when you finally get the money.
There’s also the possibility – at the rate you’re burning through our cash – there may not be any left. Or I could die prematurely, your mother could marry a gigolo and your inheritance could be lost on a Vegas craps table.
Or your mother could pass away and I could fall in love and remarry a 20 something “nurse after a purse” and your inheritance could be left to half brothers and sisters you don’t even know.
You don’t know how hard it is to say this, but it is with great regret we inform you that you have 30 days to vacate the premises. If you are still living here past the deadline, we are going to get tough. Your mother will no longer wash your clothes and we will no longer pay your cell phone bill or gas for your car.
If you have not shown at least some initiative at the end of one month by at least looking for a job, we will take away your weekly allowance and ground you.
We know these are drastic measures son, but it really is for your own good.
Mommy and Daddy