As the holiday festivities ensue, so the cupeth overfloweth. As of last Thursday, Shane has been on a mild bender mixed with his buds and beers. Bait, hook, and sinker. My fellow has been consuming alcohol like a mad fish. It's been comedy.
Although on a dark day Sunday, the day of the 49ers and Packers game, was the venom of all fangs. He left the house approximately nine thirty in the am dressed for an ice fishing expedition. His gaggle of buds met at Blooms as they had a bus scheduled to take them to Candlestick Park to begin their tail gating fiesta. Did I forget to mention there were still exuding vapors from the Christmas party from the night before? There's something about a pack of dudes that just scares the white cells out of me. Nonetheless, a pack of Packer fans or any football fan makes me want to crawl underneath my bed.
Breakfast at Zazies, house chores, Christmas shopping, wrapping Christmas gifts, grocery shopping, and a home made lasagna later, my husband was as absent as a blonde on a full moon. Typical. Needless to say, the Packers won and so the tirade of drinking commenced into the evening. Damn them boys! Men are always boys when around other males, slapping each others butts, farting, and drinking till they puke. Typically normal, yet strange.
It was time for me to place that "get your ass home now" phone call. As I viewed my beautiful culinary art work of a lasagna cooling on the counter, there was no hesitation whatsoever.
"What are you doing? It's almost eight o'clock. Get your ass home now." I did not permit any room for response.
"Hi Hon!" He excitedly blurted.
"Listen, I don't care what your doing, but you need to get your ass home, it's almost eight."
"Alright, I was waiting to catch a ride to the house."
"Where are you?"
"At Blooms."
"Huh, okay you get your lazy ass up those two blocks, you little turd! Now."
I could not believe the audacity of this monkey. It was Sunday night. Any other night was fine, but on a Sunday! Apparently, a delay to Shane's arrival was due to a friend's mishap, the accident will proceed as unrecorded. Honestly, after boys’ night out, golf tournament, dueling Christmas parties, and flippin’ Packer day, all I sought was to unwind with him on Sunday night. It was ritual.
Even in my free spirit ways, I have my limits. It's called a harness. Let him know who is boss. I mean, everyone knows he wears the pants in this marriage, the pant-ies that is. Surely, I jest. What can I say, except that it all comes down to the fact that I missed him. I did. What bites is when these boys gather for their monkey convention, it’s all or nothing. It's chaos and injury all wrapped in a sweaty jock strap of male bonding. Ah, the criminy. All in all, my life could be worse and in the end life is beautiful.
Lesson: A whip smart Grasshopper must always look on the bright side of the conflict.
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