It’s been a year since the last of my three sons moved out, leaving me and my wife to live alone with animals. Of course, grown children never truly leave home – they have keys.
In principle, I am free to do as I like – to behave erratically, dress eccentrically and allow my hair to find its own topiary shapes. But, in practice, I have to present more or less normally, in case a key turns in the lock without warning, as it does several times a week. Generally speaking, my sons drop by either to play with the pets or steal my socks, depending on whether they find me in or not. But sometimes their motives are not readily apparent.
