Damn! I am an old fart!

My fifteen-year-old Josh's answer to everything I say that he doesn't agree with is that I am an old fart. No matter how much I try to impress upon him that I was at one time considered hip, he only sees a fat, aging, old fuddy-duddy. That has never bothered me until recently. Afterall, my dad is an old fart, and he tells me that my boy is just going through normal phases. Whether or not he'll live through those phases remains to be seen. But that is not why I am here at the keyboard today. No. I am here because several recent events have made me realize that I just might be an old fart afterall. Folks, we're talking telephones, televisions, and dogs.

I'll start with telephones, but first, let me mention how I resisted cell phones as long as possible. I never thought I needed one since all of my friends had them. If I was away from home, I could always use theirs to call home. Who else would I call? I was either at home or out with friends. Since I only have about 5 friends, odds were we were all together most of the time. But this tale of woe is not about cell phones. No, my friends, it is about regular old home phones. You see, the ones we had at our house were giving up the ghost. The one in the kitchen would not dial a single "6". One slight touch of the key and it would dial about fifty of them. That made it especially difficult for me since almost every interchange in our area starts with a six. Anyway, I decided that the time had come to buy new house phones. We had gotten our fifteen years of service out of the old ones, so I couldn't complain. I headed over to Office Max. There they had a very helpful young man who pretended he wasn't thinking I was an old fart, even though I knew he was thinking it. He had to be. I was totally out of my element. You see, phones had changed since we bought the last ones. Now, don't get me wrong, we had push button phones and they were even cordless. However, each of them had their own phone jack. Our new ones only have one phone connected to the phone lines. That one "broadcasts" phone service to the others. They can even call each other! Hell, they have so many damned functions that my wife and I have trouble using them. I usually use my cell phone instead. It is easier to use the cell phone because my son taught me how. He has decided that I am too stupid to learn how to use the new house phones. It would make me mad, but he's so right it hurts. I can answer the phone and, about half the time, I can successfully dial a number and actually get who I want to talk to.

Okay, televisions and dogs are coming up. I'm going to have to do them later. I'm such an old fart that I ran out of steam with the telephones. Damn that Josh! I hate when he's right.