At least it’s my personal hell. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s never too early to introduce your child to poor nutrition and gambling, but could they at least offer something besides a $5.00 Miller Lite for me to take the edge off?
So my six year old son’s basketball team recently culminated their fabulous season with a trip to the (I can hardly say it) restaurant with the rat for a mascot.
I didn’t want to go. I loved my son’s basketball season. Loved his coaches and all the other players. Wanted so badly to be a team player… but on a dark and rainy school night, after a rather hectic day, Up-chucky’s Sleeze was just not calling my name.
Enter: Mike. Like a gallant knight on a white horse, like Tarzan swinging through the jungle (kitchen, whatever) on a vine, he strode in the door, took one look at the expression on my face and, like a 15 year seasoned spouse stated “I’ll take the kids tonight. Why don’t you stay at home.”
Are you kidding me? Did I really marry this well? I did! I REALLY DID! It’s true! (man I’m smart.)
Now only the four most important people in my life will be off consuming the fude (well it’s not food) the “rat”-urant serves to its sensory over-loaded patrons, after I fed them a hearty bowl of vegetable soup on their way out the door, of course. But at least I was off the hook. I was saved! SAVED!
Thanks, Love. You’re the best.