Monday, March 14, 2005

Accidentally On Purpose

Saturday night, here in the wilds of suburbia, we experienced our first "Progressive Dinner." You have appetizer at one persons house then herd on over to another's for salads, and so on for main course and dessert. Probably about a third of the neighborhood participated and the other two thirds got to hear us noisily tromping hither and yon with open containers in hand. I myself was always on the move with a very large bottle of Merlot in my hand. And I don't even LIKE Merlot.

Anyway, the "dessert house" ended up being probably the nicest home in the neighborhood. All the husbands immediately disappeared upstairs where there is a bar, fooseball, pool, darts and one of those bar shuffle board thingies. I was ready to leave at about 11:30, but hub fervently whispered to me in a gust of beer breath "This is the most fun I've had since we MOVED here!" so I soldiered home without him (but in the comforting companionship of a paper plate wrapped in tin foil and harboring three, count them THREE, pieces of cheesecake).

Hub finally totters on in at about 2:30 like the proverbial bull in the china shop. After knocking on the door and waiting the grand total of about 45 seconds for me to get up and make it down the stairs to let him in, he rings the freaking doorbell. Ass. Then he snarls at me when I chastise him for ringing the doorbell. Again, Ass. I go back upstairs (knowing better than to get into it with a drunk person) and he stomps into the kitchen and proceeds to bang every pot and pan in the place, ostensibly looking for a snack.

When he has thrashed the kitchen to his liking, he proceeds to stomp (as apparently being drunk makes his feet weigh more) his way up the stairs, stomps into the kids rooms to check on them, then stomps over to the bed and drops trou. Suddenly he decides that my open blinds are bothering him (that millimeter of moonlight seeping in is apparently burning his eyeballs) he comes over to my side of the bed to shut them. In the process he knocks my lamp AND my alarm clock off the nighstand in another symphony of clatter.

This man could not be making more noise if he was in a sitcom.

He FINALLY settles into bed when M calls "Daddy!". Before I can even tell him that I got it (as I am OBVIOUSLY awake) he pops up and stomps in her room. Several minutes later he still has not returned, so I go to investigate. All 220 pounds of him is squished around her into her tiny twin bed and he is snoring.

Taking pity on my daughter, I start to untangle him from her grasp so as to wake him and get him into our room (not that I really want him in there, but a mommy's gotta do what a mommy's gotta do). I slowly peel his left arm off of her and he promptly responds by rolling off her bed and landing loudly on top of Dora's Talking House (easily the most painful thing POSSIBLE to land on).

I do what any quick-thinking wife would do in my situation......

I duck.

I hear him crash around a little with muffled swears mixed in with "Hola!" emitting somewhere from Dora's house. He drags himself back up on the bed and, as I stay crouched on the other side of the bed TRYING not to laugh (but small "snkkks" and "ppphts" are escaping anyway), falls back to sleep (as only true drunk people can). I stand back up and POKE him awake this time and get him back to bed where I have to kick him numerous times to that he will stop snoring long enough for ME to get back to sleep (with a smile on my face).

Dora's house seems to have made it through the debacle in tact but has anyone seen Baby Jaguar? He's gone missing. Hmmmmmmm