All Dressed Up with No Place to Go

A few posts ago, I asked your favorite city to visit. My favorite, hands down, is New York City. Great place to visit, but I am not raising my kids there. I love the sites and Time Square, the place to be, night or day. One of the perennial fixtures there is The Naked Cowboy. There he stands, in the middle of Time Square, in his tidy whities, guitar, hat and boots, crooning for the crowds.

I have never really given growing up much thought. Why worry about something that you cannot stop? Ideally, I am going to mature and become a better person out of this aging business. But something is bugging the shit out of me. What happened to the me that actually told a co-worker, I could get things done faster if they would stop calling me? The person who didn't give a rat’s ass about what people thought? Any and every situation bounced off my scaly armor, like rain. Not lately though, my scales have sloughed away down the drain, thanks to life's loofah. My tough exterior has been replaced by worries.

I think I have become The Naked cowboy, except; no hat, no boots, no guitar, no nice abs and no choice about being there. I am naked and waiting for the next boss, spouse, child or bill collector to take a swipe at me. So, next time you are in NYC, stuff some money in his boots (or elsewhere), smile and think of me.