Maybe I Should Shower More Often?

September 18, 2012

in After The Honeymoon, How to be a Housewife

This past weekend was one of those weekends I live for. The kind that happen maybe twice a year. But when they do? It. is. magical.

The Big Man and I eloped.

At least that’s what it felt like. We pawned the Littles off on my MIL before they managed to wake up, let alone get up, on Friday morning, grabbed whatever we could carry, and drove off into the sunrise. For 2.5 child-free days. We ate. We drank. We were just another married couple, celebrating ourselves, each other, and the return of a few of our fellow child-less friends.

And on Saturday morning? I showered. For 30minutes. Uninterrupted. Without an audience. Or a play-by-play of each sudsy portion of my anatomy.

Which is the only explanation I can muster for what happened Saturday evening….

It must have been around 11pm, so well after our bedtime. But we were childless. And if we wanted to stay out till midnight and not get out of bed until 8am? By golly, we could! So instead of turning out the lights at 10pm, we were out painting the town.

And by painting the town, I mean following up an evening of food, fun, and every single line dance known to man outside of a country western bar at the the Big Man’s alma mater’s homecoming gala by sitting our fancy butts down on a couple of store front seats with a very good friend and some very, very good soft serve ice cream.

So there I am, in my black satin cocktail dress, red high heels, freshly showered, shaved, and painted. Enjoying a salty pretzel & caramel soft serve ice cream with as many toppings as I could fit into the bowl, as well as the ego boost from the knowledge that I can be sitting there, resting my cleavage on the tabletop, chowing down, and still get looks from passing drunk frat boys, when a lone and lonely boy walks by.

He glances back.

Bonus points!

Stops.

Backtracks to the window.

And just stands there.

Staring.

At me.

Or the delicious chunks of cookie dough I’m currently shoveling into my mouth.

And then he makes his move.¬†Which, frankly, doesn’t really clear up which he’s been oggling for the past 30seconds. But I’m guessing he’s never seen Top Gun. Because his move? Is to press his lips, nose, chin, and zits up against the glass in the perfect impression of a blow fish who’s allergic to water.

The Big Man? Was not amused. And if looks could have killed, or that cop hadn’t been parked right across the street, BlowFish Boy would have been more of a smudge on the sidewalk than he already was on the window….

I’d like to think the Big Man’s reaction was a fit of jealous passion. As opposed to the threat of someone oggling the ice cream he just paid for. But as he mouthed the most menacing “GO AWAY” known to man, I realized I have two options:

1. Flash my wedding rings and mouth a sympathetic “Thanks Anyway” or…

2. Share my ice cream.

Needless to say, I don’t share well. And neither does the Big Man.

 

{ 3 comments }

Shibahn September 19, 2012 at 8:19 pm

That is awesome! You helped put a smile on my face. And you’ve always got it girl! The Big Man better count his lucky stars! :)

NSC September 19, 2012 at 1:00 pm

Love when I have the “ooohhh yeah, still got it” moments! Totally jealous of your getaway.

Allison September 19, 2012 at 9:12 am

The drunk frat boy was the greatest thing of all time.

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