• Ridden a child’s dirt bike to and from an establishment that sells any combination of liquor, scratch-offs, rolling papers and bath salts — but mainly because my kid isn’t yet old enough to have a dirt bike and I keep tipping over on his trike (stupid fat knees).
• Stolen copper plumbing out of a vacant rental property without first shutting off the water.
• Tried bumming a cigarette off a random stranger as they emerge from the YMCA after a workout.
• Worked up a karaoke routine to “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” — but I’m pleading the fifth in regards to “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That).”
• Tattooed Chinese symbols onto my own neck, even though I did, however, have the name we picked out for our firstborn tattooed onto my calf in Mongolian when my wife was pregnant — meaning I was as surprised as anybody when she gave birth to a boy who’s not actually named Nevaeh after all.
Through the years, I’ve closely monitored the eccentric personalities that comprise the Springfield Metropolitan Statistical Area and make it the fascinating place that it is for us amateur anthropologists.
But I’ve come to the startling conclusion that I may actually be one of them.
I mean, I like a good laugh at someone else’s expense as much as the next guy — but I also now realize that someone else is undoubtedly laughing at me.
My neighbors presumably read these weekly commentaries of mine, only to think to themselves, “But that guy is so weird himself! I swear to God I saw him using a Mr. Clean ‘Magic Eraser’ on his gutters!”
I informed my wife of my decision to finally include myself among the city’s many oddballs, which to her was almost like an admission of a substance-abuse problem.
What I said: “I think some of what I do could be construed as strange by our neighbors.”
What she heard: “Honey, the real reason you caught me sweeping our porch roof with a broom that one Saturday morning is because I can’t quit smoking bath salts.
“And while I was up there, I also ate a Lazy Cake and chased it with a 5-hour Energy, both of which I had hidden in the cutoff Justice League pajama pants I was wearing.
“The next thing I knew, I had the ‘Magic Eraser’ in my hand and was wiping some scuffs off the gutter.
“I’m a broken fool of a man, I realize that now, and I need your undying love and guidance to make me whole again.”
For all the years we’ve been Springfield homeowners, none of my actions dawned on me as being remotely wacky until just recently.
The more I think about it now, I suppose the sight of me wearing rubber gardening gloves and sweeping the street in front of our house, complete with a dustpan, could be construed as odd.
I really did try to get rid of two pigeons nesting in our eaves by repeatedly throwing rocks at them for an entire summer.
And, what, you don’t regularly vacuum your front porch, too?
All of a sudden, I’ve become self-conscious about my behavior.
In fact, one evening just this week, my parents and I were relaxing on the porch, and I just happened to be wearing those cutoff Justice League pajama pants.
“Don’t tell me you wear those to mow,” my dad wondered.
“Why?” I asked, pretending like I didn’t already know the answer.
“Don’t you think they’re kinda weird?” he replied.
Of course, I never wear them to mow. Duh.
Sweeping the roof in them is a different story.
Contact this reporter at amcginn@coxohio.com.
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