Myra Monkhouse

One-man house party. My folks split to Las Vegas for the weekend, a Sin City excursion twice as sinful since they're going to see Celine Dion perform. Dad seemed surprisingly okay with it. It's sad that I'm so old that having the house to myself isn't a big deal anymore. I'm actually totally sober and watching "Family Matters" right now.

Honest-to-God instructions Mom gave me:

"If you see ants in the kitchen or the pantry, don't use bug spray because we keep food there."

"Go to the front gate to get the Sunday paper. If you can’t remember which box is ours, just take someone else's."

"If there's a message, push the 'play' button on the machine to hear it."

How I wish there were more than twenty-four hours in the day. Myra Monkhouse, R.I.P.