Nothing in this world compares to my vicious streak of independence and rebellion. If I’m against something, or uninterested in doing it, no force on this planet can sway me from that viewpoint. All of that changed when I got married.

I don’t blame anyone. The change came from within me and wasn’t forced by anyone else. Like I said, I alone decide what I do. I “opened up the books,” as they say in mob movies and gave power to my wife. I have never regretted it, until today.

The Redhead has informed me that she has signed me up for manual labor this afternoon. She promised a friend who’s MOVING that I would help them MOVE. That’s… that’s a big promise, especially without first securing the approval of the workforce. She told me this morning. The promise was made days ago. I’m locked in.

I’d like to say that this is something I would fight, but with a kid on the way I fear that my rebellion will fall. Survival is sometimes more important than freedom. Sheer existence alone under oppression is still existence, no? Braveheart might disagree, but he died at the end. I plan to live. Oh the joy I feel, looking forward to arranged play dates and bullshit with other little league dads just because we share the common ground of procreation. Goody goody gumdrops, say I, because sometimes war is too costly to justify.

No, a wise general chooses his battles. If the “friend” who’s MOVING hadn’t promised cold beer, the rebellion may have raged on, but at what cost? I will live to die another day.