First, there was the birth thing. Then came childhood, or so I’m told. I kind of felt like I was born 17 years old, but that might be rooted in the fact that I was six feet tall the day I emerged from the womb.

I suspect there was something in the water back then.

I remember getting lots of advice from my dad, but I’m not entirely sure what the advice was now. I bet it would really come in handy too, now that I’m stuck under this bookcase. All I can think of is that there must have been about 12 or 13 ways I could have avoided this irritating happenstance.

My dad would have avoided this. He was great at things like that. Also, he had brown hair. And he was just chock full of advice, which is probably why he never got stuck under a bookcase in his entire life.

Why is it only when you’re trapped under a bookcase that you start regretting how much you took your parents’ wisdom for granted?