|Get out of my house!|
I've known for awhile that She$ was heading back home for Mother's Day weekend (it's this weekend so do something nice for your mom). I made all the plans that I wanted to make which were none. I figured that I would get Cane's one day, then some pizza place that I've never had before, head to Five Guys at least once, and pick up a 12 pack. I should probably mow the yard as "exercise". Those were my plans. That is it. It was going to be awesome. And then I get the call on Tuesday afternoon:
She$: Don't be mad at me. (this is always a HUGE warning that I will be getting pissed off very soon)
She$: So my parents are coming to Columbus for blah blah blah...and they are going to stay at the house with you on Saturday night.
G$: Wait, what?
She$: Well, they were invited to...(didn't catch the rest since blood was shooting from my ears)
G$: (2 minutes of silence in which the wife wonders if I hung up on her). This sounds like a horrible idea.
I wallow in my own self-loathing for the rest of the afternoon at work and get back into it as soon as I get home.
G$: Fix this. Fix it.
She$: Get over yourself.
G$: If this has anything to do with the joke I made about prostitutes the other night, let me assure you that I'm not actually going to have prostitutes stay over here. (earlier in the week, I asked her jokingly when she was coming back on Sunday so I could make sure the whores were gone)
She$: (laughs at me)
G$: I'm taking this argument to the only place where I am respected...THE INTERNET!
Guess what happened? I have roommates on Saturday night. Maybe I'm clueless but I just can't comprehend this situation. Why the hell did they even consider this when their daughter was back home STAYING AT THEIR HOUSE! I never agreed to this bizarre swapping of guest bedrooms. I'm not hosting a fucking slumber party for my in-laws! We don't even have sleeping bags or scary movies! I should mention that this is not the first time that my "me time" weekend has been cut short/ruined at the last minute. A year or so ago, I'm sitting at home on a Friday night eating sloppy joe's while topless and getting ready to go out for Reba's birthday when She$ decides to not leave until Saturday morning because she popped a tire earlier in the day. IT'S JUST NOT THE SAME, WOMAN, no matter how you try to justify it!
And it isn't. I was told then what I was told now, "I don't care if you go out with the guys". But that's the problem! Since you (and now your parents) are here, NOTHING has changed. I can't just come barging in at 3 AM with a crave case from White Castle and breath that would make a skunk jealous. People are judging now! Do you think that her parents would be cool with me coming home at sunrise? You better fucking think again. People be judgin'! Which means that that shit ain't happening on Saturday. I'm still Joe Marriedfuck now when I was supposed to be Big Timmy Livinglikeabacheloragainforafewhours. I'll do what I always do...make sure I'm home between 12 and 1. Nothing beats having a titty-fucking curfew again when you're 30 years old.
I don't mean this to sound harsh or to imply that I don't like my in-laws because I do. Ummm, but you can see how strange this situation is. And if you're married, you KNOW how important these silent weekends are. What if somehow I get sick on Saturday and can't leave the couch all day? THAT WOULD BE THE WORST THING EVER. Ugh, the weekend that I was once looking forward to is the weekend that I am now wishing were over. And I'm putting all of the blame on She$. I truly think that she enjoys it when she can wreck my plans to be uber-lazy.
But the in-laws will come a-knocking around 6, I'm told. What the fuck do I do? Now I HAVE to be out of the house by 5:30 (because I am NOT entertaining) but I spent the last month making sure that I had ZERO plans or responsibilities this weekend! I suppose that I could play golf that day but it will probably rain because it rains everyday here. That's no good although I would not be opposed to it. I had an epiphany last night...Reds or Indians game! Shit, both of those fag teams are on the road. Bar-hopping is an easy answer but I can do that whenever I want. I'm smart enough to realize that strip clubs aren't fun anymore. Which leads me to...
Casino. Wheeling or Cincy, it does not matter. I'm more than willing to drive and am now looking for companions. I do accept road-head. Either way, I need to get out of the goddamn house on Saturday without coming home smelling like I just took a bath in Stroh's. Who's coming with me? Someone please come with me. I beg you. I don't want to meet up with Grumpy in Lawrenceburg and play the f-wordin' penny slots or whatever octogenarians play at casinos (tummy sticks?). Save me. I can think of no better way to punish my wife for this than to drop a mortgage payment on the Ohio River!
I was betrayed. Promises were not kept. I should have known better than to trust someone that knows Jim Tressel. I will have my revenge. Your uppance will come, wife.