Top Five #5 - The Drinks

     At the end of this month, The Wife and I will celebrate two blissful years of marriage.  

     OK, maybe blissful is too strong.  But hey, she hasn’t left me yet, so I’m sticking with blissful.

     In honor of that blessed occasion (and since it was such a hit on my other blog), I’m now going to present a Top Five list.  On the other blog, it was the Top Five Stupidest Things Students Have Ever Done.  We’ll be exploring a similar theme here.

     The Top Five Dumbest Things I’ve Ever Done Since Meeting The Wife.

     And I know what you’re thinking.  Why would he write about such things?  Why would he tell the whole world (or at least the five or so people who read this) about how stupid he’s occasionally (or more than occasionally) been?  Why would I do that?  Three reasons:

1. It’s Funny (even I can admit that)


2. So everyone will know what a saint The Wife is (because she’s still with me, even after bearing first person witness to my idiocy)


3. Now, when I write about something dumb she does, she’ll have no room to complain (and believe me, she could fill out a Top Five all on her own).

And with that being said… I present to you Top Five #5:  The Drinks

     The Wife and I met at a mall.  We both worked there – she managing her cozy little watch kiosk, me assistant managing the toy store.  We got together because one of her employees and one of mine decided to fix us up (which is a story in and of itself and will be presented later in the Top Five).  Our first date was a trip to the TGIFriday’s in the mall for a drink.

     We – and by ‘we’ I mean me and the other toy store employees – were well known at Friday’s.  We spent far too much of our time and far, far too much of our paychecks there.  And so, we had gotten quite friendly with the bartenders, including Amy, the young lass working that night.  This friendliness resulted in free non-alcoholic beverages whenever we came in.  And since The Wife and I both had to drive, we ordered a few rounds of soda (or pop as its called here in the Midwest).  Coke for me, Diet for her.

     We sat at that bar and talked and talked and talked.  We were both amazingly comfortable with each other.  So comfortable, in fact, that we closed the place.  Just before it was time to go, The Wife went to the restroom.  Amy came by to collect our glasses.  She shook her head when I asked how much.

     “Don’t worry about it,” she said.  

     Still, I dropped a ten spot on the bar as a tip (see how generous I am?).  As I pushed in my stool, The Wife returned from the bathroom.  She reached for her purse to pay for her share of the libations.

     “Don’t worry about it,” I said.  

     The Wife smiled at me, clearly impressed that I was gentlemanly enough to pay her tab (especially since she’d downed four Diets to my one Coke).  

     A lesser (or brighter) man, might have let it go.  A lesser (or smarter) man might have seized that as the opportunity to ask The Wife for her number or perhaps for another date – get her while she was impressed.  A lesser (or less idiotic) man might have let the little white lie (a lie of omission, really) go unchecked.

     Me?  I am not a lesser (or brighter, smarter, or less idiotic) man.  

     “It was nothing,” I said.  “Really.  The drinks were free.”

     I could tell you that I told her that only so she wouldn’t find out the truth later and think I was a liar.  I could tell you that I told her that because my parents raised me to believe honesty is the best policy.  Or I could tell you that I told her that because that is how a true gentleman behaves.

     But let’s face it.  If any of those were true?  

     I wouldn’t be writing this list, now would I?

     Somehow, The Wife got past that little social blunder (and the fact that I never did ask for her number or a second date).  And somehow, she saw through the other four mental miscues on this list and saw the wonderfulness that is me.  However that happened, this incident give me one thing…

     Whenever she tries to tell me she didn’t realize what a babbling baboon of  a boob I am until it was too late, I can always remind her…

     Honey… the drinks were free.

It's All Fun and Games Until Somebody Loses an Eye

     In honor (belated) of Father’s Day, I was going to write something about the true joys of fatherhood.  I was going to recount the day The Wife and I discovered The Bean was coming.  I was going to relate the tale of our trip to the Psychic Fair the day before and how, after being told it would be at least another year before a baby joined our family, we both agreed that was probably for the best.  

     We’re just learning to be responsible, we said.  We’re managing our money better, we have a house, we’re starting to take care of simple things like laundry and dishes before they get to be big, smelly messes.  We’ve only been married a year.  Let’s have some more time for ourselves.  

     The next day, one little word on a pee covered EPT stick changed everything.

     Just about 14 months later, we’re both overjoyed that it did.

     And that was what I was going to write about.  All the little things The Bean does to make it all worthwhile.  

     Instead, let me tell you how I almost blinded my daughter.

     Today is day one of week three of Daddy Day Care.  And, in an effort to get The Wife to work in a more timely manner, I was feeding The Bean her rice cereal.  And we were having a grand time.  She loves reaching for the spoon and pulling it to her mouth.  We love to watch her smile up at us with cereal smushed all around her mouth, dripping down on to her bib or her high-chair tray (which she then proceeds to try and lick clean).  And so Daddy was doing the old classic – Airplane Coming in for a Landing!.  And as the plane swooped down out of the sky, on a direct course for Landing Strip Tongue One, the landing strip suddenly moved.  It lurched forward (in pursuit of some of that yummy cereal on the tray).  The pilot didn’t have time to change course and so Flight Cereal 101 crashed down.

     Right into The Bean’s left eye.

     To her credit, The Bean didn’t cry.  She just looked up at me, with rice cereal dripping off her eyelashes.   She didn’t start to cry until Daddy tried to clean her up with her bib, spreading more rice cereal goop all over cheeks.  Finally, The Wife (aka Mommy) stepped in and saved the day.  Three minutes of Mommy magic later, The Bean was clean, eager to guzzle down her bottle, and read to burp up half of said bottle all over Daddy’s shorts.  All was right with the world again.

     So the next time Father’s Day rolls around, I won’t remember that last year I didn’t think I was ready for the responsibility of a child.  I won’t remember that I thought of myself as an overgrown child who couldn’t possibly raise another human being without doing severe damage.

     I’ll remember how lucky I am to have The Wife.  

     So at least there’s someone around to fix it when I screw up.

     Maybe we should just have two Mother’s Days.