From Her: He's out getting drunk

While I was at work today, he was off at a company outing. A sunny, warm, afternoon baseball game complete with burgers, dogs and of course, beer. How else does one do baseball?

It was all very nice and I enjoyed his noble attempt at fitness by riding his bicycle to the field, only to "forget" the lock combination long enough to walk home, drive to the hardware store, purchase a bolt cutter, rip off the packaging, throw away the receipt (as if he would return it anyway) and drive all the way back to his lonely bike at the ballpark. Entertainment at its best considering he is usually the astute one.

It was all very nice and entertaining, until I arrived home after my hour commute to cat puke on my laptop (luckily it was closed), and the air conditioning cooling the house on its way out the windows. How silly of me to think a 20 year old would have more sense. Suddenly, the phone call from my spirited husband, now drinking al fresco at a posh little place downtown, with his guy friends who-ha'ing in the background, was much less amusing. "I'll call you later," he said. Good idea. And it only got worse when he did.

I was working out with the girls and suddenly realized the need to rush to the bathroom to deal with the untimely, bursting reminder that I still produce unwanted eggs, when he called from his guy friend's deck. I blame myself for even answering the phone; then I turned it off.

Let's just call it a night sweetheart.