This morning at 7am, my wife, Meg, and our 3 children departed for Florida. Let me start by saying that my wife is an absolute rock star! If I was tasked with the adventure of bringing 3 kids under the age of 8 through airport security and on a 3 hour flight, I might throw myself into oncoming traffic. What in the world would ever prompt someone to take on that kind of torture voluntarily is beyond my scope of imagination, but she did make the reservations in the dead of winter here in New England and even the concept of 80 degrees and sunny makes folks brains all mushy. I can only guess that was what happened.
As they drove off, my kids screamed and waved and my wife grinned as if to say, “You lucky son of a bitch. If I could hurt you right now, I would.” Now, I adore my wife and most of my kids, but damn did it feel good to see them drive off knowing that I wouldn’t see them again for 2 days. Peace and quiet. I’ll be honest, my son was really upset that I was not coming which made me sad and Meg sent me a picture of the kids all smiling at the airport and I really, for a moment, wished I was there, but those two emotions passed me by like a warm summer breeze. Mantown was upon me. I remember before the kids came along when my wife would go on a business trip. It was nice for a couple days, but I would eventually miss her and get bored. Oh no. This is different. This is mantown on a whole other level. As any father/mother out there can attest to, a whole day and night sans children is something to behold. It is rare like a diamond and just about as valuable.
Now the brain starts spinning. What the hell am I going to do?! So many possibilities and so little time. Hiring a team of strippers is out. I simply don’t have enough time to clean up a mess like that what with all the glitter and dollar bills strewn about. I could call some buddies and have a barbeque with beers and horseshoes. Again, that sounds like a lot of prepping and cleaning, and I don’t think I have ever played horseshoes in my life. I’ll keep the beers idea though. Beers are easy to clean, don’t require stacks of dollar bills, won’t get me immediately divorced, and don’t involve throwing heavy metal objects at a stick. OK, activity #1 is set: beers.
I need to do something that I don’t normally have time or ability to do because of those damn little people living with me. Something I greatly enjoy. I have had a handful of mantown days in the past. I always have these grandiose plans of things to do, but I then end up sitting on the couch watching a string of movies that I know my wife would hate. They usually involve zombies or raunchy humor and excessive nudity. There is something to be said for that activity and I usually enjoy it while it is happening. The problem is that I wake up in the morning feeling like I just had a one night stand with the worst looking girl at the bar. I feel guilty, worthless, and used. Yes used by that dirty, mind-numbing television. No. Not tonight. Tonight I’m going home with the 10, or maybe the 7.5, but definitely not that 2 I took home last time. Yes dammit. And tonight my 10 is in my basement. Wait….that didn’t come out right. I meant, my chosen activity for the evening is going to be to work on my boats in the basement. I should get home around 5:30 and I figure after I pack and clean up a bit, I should have a solid 4 hours to work. OK, so it ain’t strippers and adventurous one-night-stands with a hottie from the bar, but it is where I’m at in life and it excited me just the same. Well, not exactly the same, but you get my point.
So keep an eye out for some updates on the boats. I should be able to get a sizable chunk of work done this evening. Emphasis on the word “should” because after that 4th beer, that 2 at the bar starts looking like a 5 and I may find my ass on the couch watching Shawn of the Dead for the 47th time.
Thank you for reading.