In An Ideal World

When I grow old and my children grow up, they will get married and buy a house.

Hopefully, it's a big house. A nice house. One where they pick the tile and countertops, flooring, and fixtures. Where they paint the perfect color on their textured walls and maybe even match their drapes to their pillows.

And the backyard - now THAT will be a marvel indeed. It will be an outdoor living mecca of food and drink and good company, a little island of glee separate from the world where I can sit in a chaise with a crisp bottled beer and watch the grandbabies scamper about.

Yes, when I enter their homes, I shall sigh with delight for them, proud of how hard they've studied through college, found their match, and settled into domestic bliss.

Then I will jump on their couches and throw all the pillows on the floor.
I will rub peanut butter on my hands and then stroke them up and down those perfectly coordinated silk drapes.
I shall turn over the reading chairs and
empty all the dvd's (or whatever device they'll have in 2025) and add my fingerprints to their collective scratches.
Carrying huge plastic toys upstairs will be no burden of excess for I shall simply drag them along the wall, stripping the paint to the bare base.
I will swing on their banisters, toss their neatly-folded laundry from wicker baskets, scatter crumbs about the counters and every inch of their floors, and always forget to turn out any and every light I turn on inside their gorgeous domicile.
And, at the end of the day, I won't understand why in the world they should complain if there's pee on the toilet seat or toothpaste spurting within the drawer or dirty dishes shoved in far corners of rooms...

I shall simply say, "Seriously! It doesn't have to be a perfect house, does it?"

Then I'll wink and remind them of our ire swappings from their childhood...
and remark that, especially in matters of destruction it would seem,
what you sow, so you too shall reap.

But that would only happen in an ideal world.
Snicker.