I have been nibbling at the edges of maturity for years. I wake up and think today I will be a responsible adult. I begin by eating a mature breakfast like corn flakes. I skim the Times. Try in vain to smoke a pipe.
I admit a major sticking point in this effort at adulthood are my three dozen sock puppets carefully placed in my closet. They all have names and their own personalities.
Sometimes they get into loud arguments and insensitive neighbors pound on my wall.
I have developed a mature stride, but usually that leads me right to the Leggo store. They take up most of my garage.
I'm dating Leslie, a mature woman who does not laugh at my Pee Wee Herman impression. So I'm working on a John Garfield impression, a tough manly man, who sadly croaked very young.
Come to think of it, I'd rather be a silly 80 year old than a dead mature corpse.
Isn't that a mature thought?
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