Mommy Wants Vodka

…Or A Mail-Order Bride

The Daver Gets Knocked Up

October31

‘Oh my God, LOOK at this! LOOK at my belly! I have FAT ROLLS up to my arm pit. Have you ever SEEN someone with fat rolls there?’

‘No baby. You look FINE.’

‘If you squeeze my belly button, it looks like a butt.’ (simulates farting noises) ‘That’s fucking disgusting.’

‘You’re weird. Seriously, you look FINE!’

‘LOOK at these rolls! WHO gets rolls like that?’ (pokes belly disgustedly)

(sighs) ‘You look wonderful, sweetie.’

‘NO, I DON’T! I look FAT!’

‘If you don’t stop pissing and moaning about it, I’m going to put a moratorium on you walking around without your shirt.’

‘But YOU distracted me from putting it back on. LOOK, I can’t see my belt! EWWWWW!’

‘You know, if all of your friends could see you right now, NO ONE would have any sympathy for you.’

‘Do YOU have any sympathy for me?’ (sniffs dramatically)

Aunt Becky: ‘Dude, I’m pregnant, what do YOU think?’

The Daver: ‘I’m fatter than you and YOU’RE pregnant! LOOK my belly is BIGGER THAN YOURS’

Aunt Becky: ‘You know full well that I’ve lost weight.’

(interrupts) ‘And now you’re skinnier than me!’

Aunt Becky: ‘But I’m going to put it right back on soon.’

The Daver: ‘And I’m STILL gonna be fatter than you!’

(buries head in hands)

Aunt Becky: ‘I cannot believe I’m having this conversation. I suddenly understand men everywhere in a whole new way.’

The Daver: ‘I’m gonna go take a BUBBLE BATH! I’m too upset to deal with you right now.’

(flounces off upstairs.)

Daddy’s Little Girl Loves Disco

September20

I make it no secret that almost no one appreciates my musical tastes, aside from possibly 13 year old girls and aging homosexuals. The last CD I bought was strategically placed into the cart, which was then taken to the checkout aisle, wherein I disappeared into the bathroom leaving my tender husband and 5-year old to pay for it.

Justin Timberlake done BROUGHT Sexyback.

Aunt Becky: ‘I totally need to get into more disco.’

The Daver: ‘Oh NO.’

Aunt Becky: ‘What the hell is wrong with disco? It’s cheerful and doesn’t evoke thoughts of suicide like *someone’s* music.’

(pauses)

Aunt Becky: ‘I mean, come ON! I love that ‘Electric Avenue’ song. You were serenading me with it earlier!’

The Daver: ‘That’s not disco!’

Aunt Becky: ‘Of COURSE it is! What else could it be?’

The Daver: ‘I think it’s reggae.’

Aunt Becky: ‘That can’t be reggae. It’s too ludicrous. (singing) ‘We’re gonna rock down to Electric Avenue”

The Daver: ‘That song is NOT ludicrous. It’s a GREAT song.’

Aunt Becky: ‘No doubt. But it’s INSANE. What the fuck is Electric Avenue?’

The Daver: ‘Don’t you DARE mock that song. It’s amazing!’

Aunt Becky ‘How can I NOT mock it, Dave?’

The Daver: ‘It’s an amazing song.’

Aunt Becky: ‘Are you fucking with me? That song is almost as bad as ‘Disco Duck’ which was in my head all of last week.’

The Daver: ‘I’m no longer speaking to you.’

Aunt Becky: “You no longer have any room to mock my Britney collection.”

The Daver: “I hate you.”

Aunt Becky: “You see this ring? IT MEANS I OWN YOU.”

My Place Is Anywhere I Make It, Asshole

May20

I found this sort of guide to wifery from the 50’s online a couple of years ago, and supposedly it’s called The Good Wife’s Guide. Is this legit Aunt Becky, you ask me, a disapproving tone in your otherwise flawless voice? And I will tell you with absolute certainty that it doesn’t fucking matter. It’s Comedy Gold.

Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.

Planning it out in advance is saying ‘Pick up some Chinese food tonight on your way home from work’ at 3pm. Trust me when I tell you that I am FAR more concerned about my needs.

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

Now I’m not trying to imply that I look like a million bucks when The Daver walks in the door, but honestly the last thing on my mind at 7pm is ‘shit! Do I look okay?’ It’s much more like ‘did I accidentally microwave the cat, AGAIN? Shit!’

Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

Dude. I’m always a little gay.

*waggles eyebrows suggestively*

Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.

What the fcuk is a dust cloth? And I’ll happily make an effort to pick up the clutter the day that The Daver does not have a roving sock colony following him around like a wee family.

During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

Are you SERIOUS? I don’t know how to work the fireplace, and I don’t intend to learn. If he wants to relax by the fire, he can light it himself. I don’t know when catering to anyone’s comfort has provided me with any type of satisfaction.

Unless it involved Prada purses.

Then I could cater a lot.

Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet. Be happy to see him.

If there is noise in the home, it means I am home.

I am noisy.

I am loud.

I speak at extremely deafening decibels.

And really, if I am actually doing these household chores, he should be pleased that I’m not pawning them off on him.

Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

My desire to please him?

Bwhahahahahahahaha!

*wipes tears from eyes*

Hahahahahahahaha!

Yeah. Right.

Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first – remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

If I waited until The Daver stopped talking to tell him such things as ‘the sump pump backed up and the basement is flooded’ or ‘I want to have a threesome with a midget,’ I’d never be heard.

The Daver and I talk over each other with such comfortable regularity that we have actually made a sign that says “Floor” to use when we have Important Discussions.

And wait, how the hell is ‘the cpm processor of horhelfsag to the ajfoijhriwndas is jdsa;hfrioenrhiubnf more important than “Our bedroom smells like cheese” or “cherry flavored pez is a wonderfood.” Because it’s totally not.

Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.

Who else can I greet this way?

Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.

If he stays out all night, trust me, my complaining will be the last thing he’s concerned about. More pressing needs might be “How do I get my testicles back from the sewer system?” or “Where else can I let my roving sock colony live? OH LOOK, SOCKS, MADE A BABY! It’s TWINS!”

Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

Um, yeah, Michael, how’s it going? Now about that TPS Report?

Unless his arm is falling off, he had better pitch in with the kids, the dogs, buying me dinner, whatever. With a big smile on his face.

Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

My voice is like a sack of cats fighting over a mouse on a chalkboard. And I yell. Most of the time.

And where would I take his shoes? On a date?

Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

MASTER OF THE GODDAMN HOUSE?

Bwahahahahaha!

That’s right, Internet, The Daver is Master of the Bwahahahaha! I can’t even type it without laughing.

I mean, seriously, what am I supposed to say when he says, “I think we should buy a truckload of Twinkies and the biggest Fry Daddy we can find! Fuck our retirement*!!” Color me boring but I don’t think ‘Whatever you say, dear’ would work well.

A good wife always knows her place.

Dude, exactly “my place” is anywhere I fucking want it to be.

*hahahaha

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