[ WP ] You are a fat , lazy sitcom dad who is n't very bright . One day you decide to change all that and soon people from the network show up commanding you to change back .

`` Ru*FUS*! That's your daughter's *wedding cake*!'' 
 
 The moment haunts me still. That I could let my unchecked avarice threaten the happiness of dearest Chloe - apple of my eye - was a burden I could no longer bear. My eyes were opened. I would have to be a better man. 
 
 First, there was self-reflection. How had things come to such a grim, almost comically pathetic point? I had been virile once, active, charming, and clever. I played football in college, where sweet Katie was a cheerleader. We fell in love. Things progressed quickly - perhaps *too* quickly. 
 
 Katie became pregnant. We were married. We moved into the basement of her father's house. We clashed often - Katie's father and I. It was as if we had come from entirely different worlds. It was clear from the outset that Mr. Koenig had expected more for his Katie. And it was also clear that he considered me a failure, his daughter hopelessly misguided, and our newborn daughter doomed. 
 
 Those were difficult days. Arguments. Misunderstandings. I tried to be helpful - oh, how I tried! But I was ill-equipped, and in my anxiety to please, I made mistakes. I put laundry detergent in the dishwasher, dishwashing soap in the laundry. I offered to take Mr. Koenig's ancient boss to a football game and horrified him with my boorish excitement, then lost him completely on the way to the concession stand. 
 
 There was the incident with the Easter ham, the trouble with the Thanksgiving turkey, and the gory demise of the Memorial Day cheesecake. 
 
 I was pressing, and everything simply got worse. Incidents stacked on top of each other. Katie was constantly flustered, caught between two men she loved. Chloe was persistently horror-struck by my bumbling, increasingly oafish behavior. Between jobs, I attempted to bond with Chloe by volunteering at her school. But this was not helpful. My pants split in the middle of the cafeteria. I vomited on the principal. I accidentally took a bus full of children into Tijuana. I was banned from parent-teacher conferences. 
 
 Humiliation on top of humiliation. And still, nothing ever seemed to change. Katie was ever-annoyed, but ever by my side. There was a sweetness and love there that never slipped away, no matter how foolish I may have behaved. 
 
 Even when our circumstances flipped entirely, things remained largely the same. I found a new job and we finally bought our own house - only to find that Katie's father was secretly flat broke, jobless, his house in foreclosure. So the roles reversed. He moved into our basement. And so the sad comedy of our lives continued. 
 
 Everything came to a head at Chloe's wedding. It's enough to say that the worst of the crisis was somehow averted - that Katie managed to dress up a grocery store cake just in time and no one was the wiser. But I saw plainly what I had become, and I could no longer stand it. 
 
 I sought the advice of a renowned yogi who happened to live behind the local strip mall. He sent me on a journey of self-discovery. He also encouraged me to change my diet, seek a prescription for anti-anxiety medication, and switch to boxer-briefs. 
 
 Things began to change. I felt a pronounced sense of self-control and personal enlightenment. I began to read. My sleep patterns improved, as did my posture, breathing, and sperm count. I found interests away from the home and became a more well-rounded individual. 
 
 Katie saw the change and it was clear that she appreciated it. We had never stopped loving one another, but the physical connection improved markedly. It was like we were college kids again. 
 
 Even Mr. Koenig seemed to appreciate the difference. We hardly ever come to verbal blows any more. Our house is peaceful. There is a balance there that was missing. 
 
 All is quiet and calm and beautiful. 
 
 Which is why I have found these `` notes'' to be so disturbing. 
 
 They appear at random, throughout our house and my office. Urgent and yellow, they command my attention. 
 
 KATIE JUST MADE A BANANA PUDDING FOR HER BOOK CLUB TONIGHT said one note affixed to the refrigerator. EAT THE ENTIRE THING. HIDE THE EVIDENCE. BLAME THE DOG. 
 
 And I will admit to being tempted. The old me did n't need such prompting. My wretched id did all the talking in those days. But I'm a different man now. A better one. I crumpled the note and threw it away. But there are so many of them, and they are so very, very urgent. 
 
 Mr. Kornig - who has lately allowed me to call him by his first name, Ernie - needed a ride to physical therapy just the other day. After dropping him off, I returned to my car to find a new note: 
 
 SHORT WILLIE'S BOWLING ALLEY IS RUNNING A 3-FOR-1 DEAL TODAY. YOU NEED TO GO BOWL. YOU HAVE TO GO BOWL. IF YOU DO NOT GO BOWLING FOR HOURS ON END YOUR LIFE LOSES ALL MEANING. CALL AHEAD TO RESERVE YOUR LANE. 
 
 Of course, I *love* bowling, but bowling three games would have left Ernie stranded at the PT office for hours. I could n't do that. But again... I was tempted. 
 
 KATIE'S MOTHER WOULD WANT YOU TO SELL THIS FAMILY HEIRLOOM RING AND BUY A PS4 said one note I found in the attic, along with a bunch of old stuff from Ernie's house. CHLOE ALREADY HAS A RING. KATIE DOES NOT NEED A RING. YOU CAN SEE THE LOGIC HERE, RIGHT? IN FACT, SELL THE WHOLE BOX OF JEWELRY. ERNIE NEVER LOOKS AT IT ANYWAY. HE PROBABLY FORGOT ABOUT IT. GET A NEW TV WHILE YOU ARE AT IT. 
 
 I ignored the note. I ignore all the notes. I'm better than that. But they trouble me. 
 
 BORROW YOUR NEIGHBOR'S LAWNMOWER. ATTEMPT TO CLEAR THOSE HEDGES WITH IT. YOU ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME. YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. STEAL THE LAWNMOWER. BREAK THE LAWNMOWER. WE CAN NOT BE MORE CLEAR ABOUT THIS. ALL YOUR LIVES ARE IN DANGER. 
 
 You see? I simply do n't understand what they mean. How can being a good neighbor be *dangerous*? Should n't it be the opposite? 
 
 STAY UP TOO LATE. BE EXHAUSTED FOR THAT IMPORTANT MEETING. SAY FUNNY, SLEEP-DEPRIVED THINGS. THIS MAY BE YOUR LAST CHANCE. HARDLY ANYONE IS WATCHING. YOU HAVE TO DO THIS. YOU HAVE TO BE THE OLD RUFUS. 
 
 Truthfully, the notes are scaring me. I do n't dare show them to Katie. She'll laugh and say they're just a prank. And maybe they are. But I'm frightened all the same. I feel as though I've broken something. As whole and as good as I feel, there is a wrongness now, which seems to follow me. I am better, but I am not *right* I do n't believe. 
 
 BELCH AT THE DINNER TABLE. YOU HAVE TO. 
 
 I've stopped throwing the notes away. I keep them in a shoebox in my office. 
 
 SCRATCH YOUR BALLS THEN SHAKE THE COUNCILMAN'S HAND. WE CAN NOT SAVE YOU IF YOU DO NOT DO THIS. 
 
 At night, before I go to bed, I look through all the notes. 
 
 DO NOT REMEMBER KATIE'S BIRTHDAY THIS YEAR. SCRAMBLE FOR A GIFT AT THE LAST SECOND. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING. 
 
 I think I might do one or two. Just to see what happens. To see if the notes stop. To see if anything changes. 
 
 ACCIDENTALLY SET THE KITCHEN ON FIRE. PLEASE RUFUS. PLEASE. 
 
 Besides, it's okay. Really. I *know* I'm a better person. But not a perfect person. It's okay to make mistakes from time to time. In fact, it's probably better that way.
