  It’s recently come to my attention that I have become lovable monkey sidekick. What’s that mean? Read on. Back in the day Disney came out with a series of movies where a cute, dimpled college boy would try to teach his pet monkey to play basketball, become an astronaut, foil criminal activities, etc. while also trying to impress, win the hand of, get into the pants of, the lovely Annette Funicello. Wacky high jinks ensued and often the monkey got into danger trying to please the cute, dimpled college boy who would then rescue the monkey thereby moving the lovely Annette. The lovely Annette, being properly impressed with the sensitive, caring antics of the cute, dimpled college boy thus bestowed upon him hugging and kissing. And what does the lovable monkey sidekick get? You know, the one in all the danger? Does he get kisses?
Or dates even? No, he does not. He gets a pat on the head from the lovely Annette and a good natured eye roll from the cute, dimpled college boy. Should I embrace my destiny or reject it? After all, every group needs their Eddie Haskell, their Andrew, Potsie, Screech, or Gomer. Their Uncle Arthur, their Major Healy, their Danny Partridge. The hero gets the girl, the quarterback leads the team to victory, the slayer saves the world, the clever scientist defuses the bomb.
And through it all the loveable monkey sidekick gets a pat on the head and a good-natured eye roll. But god , I want more! I want to be the hero, the rock star, the slayer. Hell, I’d even be happy with the role of evil mastermind whose fiendish attempts to take over the world are thwarted constantly and without fail. Maybe I should try to reject my destiny. Is that even possible? As I race full tilt towards geriatricdom (and the speed of acceleration is making me dizzy I might add) I see another role opening up for me. That of the crazy, bent lady on the block. I’m practically a senior citizen, I could become the nut job who keeps all the balls the kids throw, by mistake, into her yard.
That neighbor who loathes humans and is socially maladjusted. Her grass needs cutting and the shades are always closed. I can’t seem to trade in the pats on the head and the good-natured eye roll for hugs and kisses so I might as well trade them in for having animal control on speed dial and a loaded water pistol by the front door. 
