Early last week hubby declared Friday night to be: “Scotch & Cigar Night”. And, I write this with the most, manly, strong, bold, & authoritative tone that I possibly can while typing.
He had invited over some of his buddies and he’d instructed each of them to bring a bottle of Single Malt Scotch. The idea was to have a leisurely get together in our backyard for an evening of stogie-smoking, peat-comparing, ice-cube-swirling, manliness, around our fire pit.
I, on the other hand, decided to retire myself to the couch to watch, with disgusted astonishment, an episode of Dateline about that sociopath Van Der Sloot (merely looking at him on tv creeps me out). But, I digress……
Anyhow, back to the boys….
My killer tv was interrupted a number of times as the potent, splendidly filthy, scent of cigars wafted through my house as the boys entered to use the bathroom, and to refill the ice bucket.
Hubby does at one point approach me in the living room to ask if I’m going to come out and join them. He says, quite sincerely.. “I didn’t mean for this to be a ‘boys’ night. Why don’t you come out and have some beers with us” To which I reply…. “Where are you sleeping tonight?”. Confused, he says “In bed, what do you mean?”. So of course, in my most loving voice I say…”you reek to almighty hell, and I don’t think you’re sleeping in our bed”. “Ha, Ha” he says. I think to myself… no need to continue along this vein, we’ll see who has the last laugh….. So I say, “I’ll be out in a bit honey”.
And, I do eventually make my way outside. We all hang out, have a few laughs, roast some marshmallows over the fire (see bringing a woman outside to join the fire pit festivities does indeed have it’s benefits!- roasted marshmallows – YUM!). We’re all having a jolly good time (what a silly phrase…. “jolly good”, I have no idea where that came from but since it’s already typed out, I’m leaving it there….). Anyhow, there we are, having a jolly good time…. And then all of a sudden .. BAM! Hubby is D-R-U-N-K! I mean, over-consumed, over-smoked, glassy-eyed… His barley’s been malted, his cask has been aged. He went from seemingly fine to “stick a fork in me, I’m done” in what seemed like, 2 seconds flat after I went outside.
And then, whaddya know???
Hubby brings himself inside and promptly puts himself to bed (or more accurately “on” bed.. but you get my point!)
Might I add, it’s only 10:30pm and I have a backyard filled with his buddies. So, I do what any good wife would do, I continue to drink with the boys, roast marshmallows and do everything in my power to avoid all that disgusting cigar smoke as they all continue to puff away (I can only go so far to hang with the boys, folks…..)
When the last people leave, (somewhere in the neighborhood of 1:30am) I make my way upstairs. And there he is, fully clothed, face down, on top of all the covers. So once again I do what any good wife would do…. I pull of his socks and decide that anything more would be far too much work. Then I toss a blanket on him and go to sleep.
Now… do you remember my earlier statement about who would have the last laugh? Well, some might say, that in his own perverse, evil way, I guess Hubby won this battle. After all, he did indeed put his nasty, cigar smelling body into our bed (well, onto our bed… but since he was fully clothed it was actually far worse….).
But, let me ask you this… who do you think was laughing the next morning while hubby struggled with his “cigar & scotch hangover”???????
I know, I know, I’m a horrible person….. but I did put the effort in to take off his socks… that’s gotta count for something…. Right???