Dear Mom and Dad,

Let me start with a quick recap of how we got here.

When I first moved back into the house following a distinguished, albeit brief, career in advertising, I thought I’d be back in the childhood bedroom for no more than three years. You saw the timeline a little differently so we compromised.

After a week of passionate discussion, we wrote up a contract that put a ceiling on my stay here at three hundred and sixty-five days. I signed that agreement in August of last year.

As you may recall, there was some back and forth on whether the two months I had been in the house prior to the agreement counted towards that time. Eventually, you came to your senses and realized that including that time would be both un-American and cruel.

That historic August agreement showed the incredible things we can achieve when we negotiate in good faith. While it was a spectacular deal, it was just one step in what I thought we all realized would be a string of negotiations.

As you may know, we are approaching the end of that deal. I'm pretty sure you do know judging by the “Good Luck, Ricky!” cake I saw in the back of the fridge.

I am writing this because recent events have me worrying that you see the agreement as somehow binding with no room for extensions. And I’m not just talking about the cake. What about the new (unapproved) paint on my bedroom wall, the addition of a dog to which you know I’m allergic, and the elimination of my seat settings in the Audi?

It appears you believe I am actually leaving in a few days. This is not accurate. Unfortunately, these ceiling deals are always a bit of a work in progress.

May I direct your attention the United States Congress, the body responsible for my legislative philosophy. Debt ceilings are set, but never in stone. It’s a nice way to set “limits” without setting LIMITS. I signed that agreement last year in the same aspirational spirit.

I apologize if there was some sort of confusion on your end. Given your consumption of cable news, I figured you understood that this was just a way of kicking the can down the road.

I don’t ask you to raise the ceiling without good reason.

Sure, I could forgive you for getting caught up on the negatives in my particular case. I should have known that the washer couldn’t hold four down comforters. And no, I do not have a good reason for confusing seltzer with red wine as the best way to get stains out of a white couch.

Those things having been said, there is so much progress being made that I don’t want us to overlook.

Have I got a job? No, not exactly. Am I close? I just may be.

I have applications in the “drafts” folder that are mere days to months away from moving into the “sent” folder. As expected, the creation of a resume went roughly four months past the scheduled due date. While not ideal, the likelihood of not meeting that deadline had been voiced and even predicted by me and others (Uncle Carl).

Kicking me out of the house now would only divert attention away from finding a job towards other more pressing things like finding a bed. It might be hard to understand, but the only way for us to get out of this hole is to dig the hole deeper.

What do I propose? I propose extending the stay ceiling to three years. I can already hear you screaming, “Why not two years?” Well, why set ourselves up to be back in this same position just one year from now?

You may also be resistant to settle on three years because that was my initial proposal. It would be like saying, “Ricky, you were right from the beginning.” I ask you to swallow your pride so that we can all move forward.

Of course, you can reject this proposal. But actions do have consequences.

Mom, I will put a chain around the fridge and lock my ankles to that chain. I threw the key out months ago and sold all of our bolt cutters on eBay. You and I both know there are a lot of meals about to expire in that fridge.

Dad, I will set the TV to the input HDMI 3. Dogs will be speaking Dothraki before you figure out how to get live TV on that screen again. You could stream it online if you figure out how to use your new laptop, but that’s sort of like saying a horse could get to the moon if it learned how to fly a spaceship.

I don’t want this to seem like a threat. I’m just stating consequences.

I look forward to your response. I assure you that this is the best thing for our house.

Love,
Ricky

P.S. I accidentally deleted all of our seat settings in the Audi.

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