“Hey Babe. The kids are sleeping out. Let’s hang tonight.”
What??? What exactly does that mean? Personally, I don’t give a rats ass if the kids are hanging out on my lap or hanging out at Aunt Gina and Uncle “Dead Head” Paul’s house for the night. If I want to “hang out” with my wife I will do so. And let’s define “hanging out” in case some of you are a bit slow and suffer from Diabetic Polio.
Actually I do give a rats ass. Who am I kidding. I happen to give the ass of a Rhinoceros. If my woman sends me that text, I begin to panic. First thing I do is call “Tony Little” for a private workout session so I can run three miles on one of those gazelle machines. I call an Uber over to Kohl’s to find an appropriate outfit for the event. My wife is so buzzed I could be wearing Christmas tinsel and she wouldn’t notice. I just wasted $100. I shave my nuts in the shower with a rusted pink ladies razor for an hour and form the letters “Mr T” on my sack like I’m Bob Ross painting a pretty little pubic hair tree. Not exactly sure why but I do. It’s my comfort zone. Then we “hang out.”
When your wife insists you should “hang out” it can only mean one thing. Get your ass home from work
as quick as possible. Make a fire. Feed her Chinese food. Drink as many beers as you can together. Attempt foreplay only to have your wife slap your hand away repeatedly like an underground Grammy nominated rub & tug artist. Try and grab her boob again as she slices your pinky off with a Ginsu Knife. It’s cute. You will both laugh simultaneously as you begin to bleed to death. It’s inevitable. Make sure a tourniquet is present at all times.
Fornicate. I’m not referring to that boring missionary bullshit we all do on a random Tuesday before “meet the teacher.” So stupid. We should all just leapfrog that embarrassing motion. Let it go. Resist the urge. Wait for that moment the wife says “let’s hang out!” Period! All the sudden the two of you are propped up naked on the granite counter top like two sexually deprived Humpback whales at Junior Prom! Next thing you know your are banging her head against a 12 pack of “Ramen Noodles.” That shits exciting. Next day it will cost you $2000 in damages from a broken sink faucet, cracked granite and 16 dents in the stainless steel appliances. It’s ok. Sex with your wife is expensive. That’s a sign of a fun, spontaneous evening! It’s worth it. Fuck the expense. That encounter just saved your marriage!
Repeat if possible. Don’t get your hopes up though. I tried to go for a second round last night after I suffered a mild heart attack and she threw a rotten banana at me and insisted I shove it up my ass crack. At least I tried! I’m still holding the banana trying to find a use for it.
The last week or two has been a bit stressful for me. Can’t pinpoint why. Few factors in recent life has created a bubble of discomfort and uncertainty. Nothing serious but my wife, being my wife, took notice.
She was uncomfortable this week as well and did the only thing she knew how to do. She sent the text. “Hey Babe! Let’s hang out tonight!”
I don’t care who you are or what the fuck is aggravating you, if your wife says “let’s hang out tonight” you drop your bullshit pre- Madonna attitude and entertain her proposition like you were given a free all inclusive vacation to Italy. You turn that frown upside down and reply “what time hun?” Obviously you still try and play the scorned victim until she grabs your pee pee and you miraculously become that grandfather from “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Remember, “you got the golden ticket.”
Then you burn shit. For some strange reason when I burn stuff, my wife gets excited. I’ve set fire to our children, her mom, her god parents and our front porch and for some odd reason it has been a spark within our relationship.
If anybody believes I’ve actually set fire to her Mom, you should perhaps be set on fire. Honestly. My wife loves fire but we will stick to burning wood & children for entertainment pleasure.
In the end it’s exciting when we have the home to ourselves. We want to become creative. Do some interesting shit. Make this experience our own. Create a memory!
If you are repulsed by the fact you are alone with your significant other and want to pour him / her a double shot of Clorox to celebrate your “alone time” you are currently in the wrong relationship. If 6 shots of tequila and a case of beer still does not shoot a tingle down your spine, it’s over. Before you commit murder, find a divorce attorney asap!
I’m not a preacher. I do not have this shit figured out. I do know this. I love my wife, my life, my children and any chance my wife wants to “hang out.”
Doesn’t happen often but when it does, I would jump up from spinal realignment surgery to take advantage of spending a quality, romantic childless minute with my wife!
The importance of these few and far between moments are the glue to any relationship.
We all think we know what to do to in order to succeed in our relationships. We don’t. We never will. It’s a constant daily whirlwind work in progress that even has Dr Phil still trying to get his wife Robyn to suck on his beady little eyeballs. And he’s a Mr Potato Head Dr on TV making millions. Nothing is certain my good friends.
We never will figure it out.
It’s what we do within the unpredictable moments that defines us.
Good luck all!