So riddle me this, Batman - how is it that my husband, who laid at death's doorstep on Saturday for the entire day, rendered helpless and weak - managed to wake my ass up at 6:30 yesterday morning to tell me that he was "thinking about" going to play golf and manage to not meet a sudden and untimely death at my hands?
Badass night was awesome. I got to Heather's around 8:30 and it was just four of us in attendance - me, Heather, Jen, and Tammy. We drank a few bottles of wine, ate some awesome snacks, and after yakking for two hours decided it was time for a movie. Mystic Pizza.
Remember that one? Well, I laughed the whole way through. Julia Roberts in all her curly-haired glory. Big sweaters, leggings...the actors that you can't quite figure out where else you've seen them before...it was awesome. In a geeky kind of way.
I finally came rolling in around, ahem, 1:30 yesterday morning. Not even 15 minutes later, Monkey Man started his nightly bout of coughing due to allergies so I adjourned to the guest room so that Joey could get some rest and hopefully feel better. This is the guy who didn't move off the sofa all day Saturday except to go to the doctor, and when he came back he was so tired he slept for like four hours.
At 6:30, Joey shook me awake. Now, keep in mind that I had barely gotten any sleep since the coughing was going in fits every 20 minutes and finally wound down around 5:30 AM. I rolled over and gave him the look of death.
"Um, hon? I think I might go play golf with my brother this morning."
Oh. Hell. No. Certainly someone who is so sick that he can't do jackshit all day and makes his wife suffer through not only her second tae kwan do class torture in less than 24 hours AND a horrific pirate party along with grocery shopping isn't going to have the balls to ask to PLAY GOLF the very next day? Not to mention waking my ass up after I took the bullet and got "coughing duty" all night?
Oh yes, my friends. He sure as hell did. And I smiled ever so sweetly, and said, "Um, hell no. If you're too sick to get off the couch yesterday, you're too sick to play golf today. PERIOD. And I can't believe you just woke my ass up to tell me that."
So he slunk back downstairs and left me to return to slumberland. Motherfucker.
And thus began my silent protest. I didn't move off the couch yesterday except to eat and pee - and believe me, if I could've managed to catheterize myself and given Monkey Man a dollar to bring me food, I totally wouldn't have moved at all. Every few hours, Joey would come slinking into the living room to ask what we were going to eat for the next meal - to which I replied, "Whatever you fix, you're in charge today." By dinnertime he didn't even ask, he just pulled out the phone book and called Pizza Hut.
And by the way, he did get in a round of golf yesterday. I made him take Monkey Man to the putt-putt place. See, I'm not so mean after all.