“I don’t want to”, he complained in his whiny little boy voice. “Why do I have to?”
“Bob, you’re 32 years old. Act like a man. And while you’re at, pick up your dirty clothes and clean the vegemite off your face”.
Bob was 32 years old. Married. Wife. 4 kids. House and a mortgage. In an alternate universe, Bob flew around in tights and underwear saving old ladies from getting run over by buses. In this reality, Bob was rapidly approaching middle age and had a strange growth of hair on his tummy in the shape of an elephant.
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