I played in a box last weekend. There it was, sitting large and empty in my living room. A childlike curiosity overcame me as I thought: “I bet I could fit inside that.” And so I, a man well into adulthood at 27 years old, climbed on in. And it was fun!
What leads a person my age to indulge in such a childish compulsion? The situation had begun with mature enough intentions. I set off with the woman I am married to, in the car that we lease, to buy a new barbeque for the home we have a mortgage on. Every aspect of the endeavour was characteristic of an adult lifestyle.
Yet, when it came time to dismantle the packaging of our new purchase, I found myself wearing it like a giant cardboard turtle shell as I chased our pets across the floor. My wife soon hopped in with me, the both of us wedged together laughing while our dog wriggled through our tangled limbs. Continue reading