Happy Friday Morphmoms! So tonight, I'm "taking it easy" as per my husband's request/demand. Last Friday night (Katy Perry, yeah...no), I found myself in the proverbial Dog House, impounded by Doug after a late evening out with my girlfriends. As a married, 46 year old mom of 3, you may be wondering how exactly this came to pass. Let me begin by clarifying some things. First, I don't "go out" with my friends but every month or so and when we do, it's for a glass of wine and some dinner. I'm usually home by 8pm, so take "late" with a grain of salt.
Last Friday, we went a little "off the menu" as far as our outings go. We had 3 birthdays (mine being one of them) to celebrate. Usually, we take the Birthday Girl out for dinner either the night of or the Friday after her big day. However, BEING moms & wives FIRST, 3 of us put our celebrations on the back burner until...last Friday night..(get out of my head Katy Perry!!) We actually ventured to a real place. Not just our usual restaurant-ish type of place. Like a "PLACE" with a big, cool, weirdly illuminated bar and tables of young people meeting after work for Vodka Valium Mocha Lattes and blasting tunes that I accused my teenage sons of fabricating their lyrics. I'll cut said evening and it's events short, since it's only a spring board, a Segway to my REAL story. To summarize, I drank one or 4 too many "White Chocolate Martinis"...I don't drink martinis...or any sort of mixed drinks usually...I adore my Pinot Gregio and Mic. Ultras with a wedge of lime. But on this particular evening, some barfly minion of Satan allowed me to taste this heavenly confection. Chocolate milk. That's what it tasted like. On my first sip, I braced myself for the "bite", the "cringe" that I associate with martinis. It never came. Instead, it was smoother, silkier, floating on a cloudier than the harsh glass of yellow urine that I called wine, sitting in front of me. Fast foFast forward to the end of the evening. After many innocent laughs and juvenile silliness , I was poured on to the doorstep of my house by my posse. I had my keys, but didn't feel like fishing in my purse for them because...Oh...apparently I didn't HAVE my purse containing the keys. Not to worry. I rang our doorbell 23 or 24 times in rapid succession. Moments later, the door opened revealing the none to pleased face of my hubby. Guess he was sleeping. I told him I lost my purse so I didn't have a key. Unfortunately, my statement gave him probable cause to suspect I was impaired. Suspecting correctly, he followed me into the kitchen as I prowled for food ( one of my personal side effects of over imbibment). As I crushed tortilla chips into the 3/4 full sour cream container,he beganhis interrogation. The barrage of questions that followed were tolerable only because my concentration was primarily focused on the feast that I was putting together for myself. In addition to the crunchy sour cream, I scored some left over chicken nuggets and soft pretzels from the fridge. "Yes, I know I said I'd be home earlier"..."Yeah, I suppose I AM drunk"... (more importantly, pleeeease sweet baby Jesus let us have mayo! Those pretzels would be simply orgasmic with mayo). "No,I didn't realize Owen was crying for me to tuck him in,because I wasn't here, member??? And that's weird because he never cares who tucks him in..." I needed to take a potty break from the inquisition. As I headed to the powder room, I caught sight in my peripheral,of the stairway leading to my fluffy, cozy bed.
I awoke the next morning to birds chirping so loudly I thought my head would explode, sunlight so searingly bright I thought I might be bleeding from my eyeballs and the face of my husband so nonplussed , I remembered that I was supposed to have come back last night from my trip to the bathroom in order to finish our conversation. Long story longer, I was in the doghouse with him. When did "Girl's Night Out" albeit a bit crazy this time around, become a crime? Nice overreaction!!!
It was quite obvious that my Beloved's tolerance level had taken a major plunge in the last 14 or 15 years. He obviously forgot about the last time he berated me for a Girls Night Out. Same reaction, but such different circumstances. Such very, very different circumstances. I remember it like it was yesterday...(hazy dream sequence cam)...
Stay tuned Morphmommies...Part 2 of "Der Dog Haus" coming on Friday. Till then you can speculate and wonder wtf went down. But I assure you, whatever you conjure up will never be as bad as the real story...