Yes, it’s that lovely time of year. The time of year that if circumstances conspire…

Hot Day plus Stressful Meeting plus a Black Leather Chair equals…

A sweat spot left on the seat of my chair upon departure.

I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. Disgusting! Ew! Awful for all involved.

Certainly worthy of a pharmaceutical ad. “Tired of embarrassing meeting departures? Sick of needing to keep spare pants at the office? Ask your doctor about DrySeetz.”

Horrible! I mean what is wrong with me? Other than it being hot, me being stressed, sitting in the only available chair, and myself having a sweaty bottom.

“Dave, please have a seat.” “Oh, no thank you, I have a sweaty bottom.”

God in Heaven help me or someone please hand me the talcum powder. Oh, and I would highly advise against sitting in that chair.

Gathering my fourth grade Little League team around me, I began to provide them with years of baseball wisdom. Useful things like, there are 108 stitches on a baseball.

I was soon interrupted by a young player who had an unrelated observation. “You look like John Cena.” Shocked at the comparison of me with the famous wrestler, I asked, “I look like John Cena?” “Yes, you look like John Cena,” the young lad affirmed.

Proud of my new body double status, I informed my family. All of them claimed that it must be a comparison of just our faces or perhaps from just the neck up.

Nope. Not having it. The boy said I looked like John Cena. All of him. No qualifiers placed on the comparison. I equal John Cena, nuff said.

Emptying out my Fourth Grade son Ben’s backpack, I found something of interest. During the year end awards ceremony in his class, Ben had been selected for the “Future President” award.

Congratulating Ben on his achievement, he placed it in context. “They handed out two of those awards. Jackson was a future president, too.”

Ah, a tie. Son, you know what that means? Send this future presidents award to the House of Representatives to decide.

Standing near Third Base, I advised the runner from the Coaches Box.

“There are no outs, if it is hit on the ground toward First, run Home.”

Home. A place of safety.

Home. So close, it seemed as if we could touch it from Third.

Home. Just a little help and my runner would return Home.

So tonight, pull up your covers. Close your eyes. Smile. You’re Home. All is good.

Father – Resolving the clogged toilet was a bonding experience.

Son – From this point forward, just the sight of a toilet snake will forever cause nightmares.

This afternoon, we attended a graduation open house. It was a chance to see old friends, enjoy life, and savor tasty food. Best of all, however, was the food surprise.

As I traveled down the table filled with yummy foods, my eager plate stood ready to hold treats. Then I saw them…

…pickles! Delicious, sweet, and crunchy pickles. Pickles just like my Grandma Franck used to make.

Pickles that reminded me of her. Pickles that once generated cries of “Grandma’s pickles!,” from my college roommates, when I would return with a jar from a weekend at home.

Sweet delicious pickles that reminded me of someone so dear. Sweet delicious pickles delivering memories along with their signature crunch.

Quick quiz. What is the 22nd wedding anniversary? Easy, that’s the Power Washer Anniversary.

Why? That’s easy. My wife has been asking me to power wash the deck for 22 years and I finally did it.

Better late than never, kids. Better late than never.

I thought the meeting was going well. A few of us needed to simultaneously review a document, so we reserved a meeting room, put the document up on the big screen, and I began scrolling through the document with my mouse.

Click, click, click, click, click, went my mouse on the scroll bar, as we arrived at the desired spot in the document.

Click, click, click, click, click, I moved to another spot.

Click, click, click… then a sudden, “Dave, please stop the clicking! Click once and hold down on the mouse.”

Oh dear, I’m sorry. My clicking had revealed a flaw in my mouse technique. It also unveiled a powerful new meeting torture device.

A guy who walks into a Socks Store and asks the question, “Do you have Big Foot socks?,” really deserves the follow-up question, “Do you mean Sasquatch or do you have big feet?”

Well, the answer is “both” and boy was it worth it.

Call me “Old Fashioned,” but…

…I like to drink my caffeine and eat my protein.