Pinky-swear

Joey is off on his five-day Manstravaganza – left yesterday morning towing a borrowed trailer that looked like he could haul a herd of cattle in it versus three 4-wheelers. Apparently when he got to his friend F’s house, they ditched it and rigged up F’s trailer to work and then took off.

Every year, we get one long weekend to do something for ourselves. Okay, I get one weekend, he gets maybe a few more than one but they’re usually business-related. No, I’m not bitter. Much. Anyhow, F is his best friend from college and they started taking this trip about three or four years ago right around Father’s Day weekend.

F is a great guy – we enjoy going to visit his family, they will stop by and see us on the way to visit her family, and we actually took a vacation to Disney World back in February with them that turned out to be way more fun than I had ever imagined. He and his wife D have been married for about 12 years and from what we know they have a very happy and settled marriage.

F grew up in the country…the mountains, to be exact. They didn’t have much in the way of entertainment, and I’m not talking about turkey shoots. I’m talking good old strip clubs. The first time the guy had ever been to a strip club was for his bachelor party. And apparently, D absolutely detests the thought of anyone going to a strip club because she thinks that the strippers are going to steal her husband away. Um, hon, I’ve got news for you…they don’t want your husband, they want his MONEY. I, on the other hand, tend to be a little more lenient about the strip club thing. I don’t have a problem if a guy goes, but I do have a serious problem if he doesn’t fess up about it. I guess my take on it is that I expect honesty on all levels, and if you’re not going to be honest about paying for overpriced lap dances and watered-down drinks – what else are you not being honest about?

Now, before you jump to conclusions – I think in the 10 years we’ve been married, Joey has been to a strip club less than 10 times. And 5 of those times were with F. So it’s not like he’s slowly whittling away our retirement fund in one-dollar increments.

Two years ago, the boys came back from their trip and I was regaled with stories for weeks about all the cool trails they went on. How exhausted they were every night to the point they curled up in the fetal position after eating 3 buckets of takeout fried chicken. How much they missed us. Yadda yadda yadda. Six months after the trip, I was cleaning out the cupholders in the Tahoe when I found a matchbook from a strip club located where the 4-wheeling trip usually takes place. To say I was pissed was an understatement…

Me: Um, what the f*ck is this?

Joey: Oh, that’s from our 4-wheeling trip.

Me: Gee, I don’t remember you mentioning going to any strip clubs out there. All I remember is how exhausted you said you were every night. What, did you get a sudden boost of energy and decide it would be a great idea to go to the strip club?

Joey: Um, no, it’s not like that…you see, we made a pact.

Me: A pact? What kind of pact?

Joey: Well, F made us all promise that we would never tell a soul that we go out there. Because D would have a complete meltdown if she even had an inkling. You know how she is, honey.

Me: A pact? What are you, like ten years old? Did you pinky-swear too?

Joey: (miserably) No, I think once you graduate from college you don’t have to pinky-swear anymore.

I don’t know what was worse – the fact that he tried to keep the strip club visit from me, or the fact that he thought it was more important to keep his friend’s stupid secret instead of honoring our agreement to always be honest about that kind of stuff. Anyhow, we ended up working it out and he promised that if they went again he’d tell me as long as I didn’t tell D. Whatever. The entertainment value of hearing about how utterly gross the club was turned out to be extremely entertaining…apparently the girls were less than stellar, many with stretch marks, tattoos, questionable personal hygeine and missing teeth. Yep, some high-class entertainment there up in the mountains.

Thursday morning, as he was loading up the rest of his stuff in the truck, he came over and grabbed me…

Joey: Are you going to miss me? Because I’m going to miss you.

Me: Of course I am, and please, please be careful. Okay?

Joey: You know I’ll be careful.

Me: And honey?

Joey: Yes?

Me: If you go see strippers this time, make sure they have teeth, okay?

Joey: Okay. Pinky-swear.