No Kids, No Life, Just a Wife

Super Bowl Sunday I arrived home around 5:30, and after driving 6 hours cooking is not on my To Do list. We popped over to our local pub to grab a bite to eat praying it wasn't too crowded. Imagine our surprise to find our pub populated not by foot ball crazed fans but by freaks! We sat down at a table and surprise! We're sitting next to a David Bowie impersonator. A Gayer one if you can believe that! (Is that even possible?? Really??) As it turns out his Pee Wee's Play House Word of the Day was "Whhooooooooo!!!!!", and let me tell you! That man LOVED his word of the day. As we sat there giggling at our new "Whhooo" friend, Sgt. Touch-A-lot sauntered clumsily over to our table and starts rubbing my back.

"Wow!! WOW! YOU'RE ALL TIGHT!!! (Shakes me like he's mixing a drink.) WHATS WRONG WITH YOU??!?!?! (Shaking. Again.) HEY CAPT!!! I'M RUBBING YOUR WIFE'S BACK!!!! OK?? OK?? IS THAT ALRIGHT?? (By now I think I have whiplash.)ALL IN GOOD FUN RIGHT PAL???!?!?!?!!" *Smacks his large meaty hand on my back, shakes The Capt's hand, pulls into him and gives him a good squeeze for good measure and smacks The Capt's back too.*

Eventually, he ambles off to rub his personal bits on some other unfortunate woman.

But! Just like that damned cat, he came back. After about 7 more rum and cokes he didn't need. Sombitch didn't even wait until the very next day. Take a minute and replay that little back rubbing scenario over in you mind, only add a few repeated questions "HEY WHATS WRONG WITH YOU" and a few "IF I HURT YOU TELL ME"s in there. Then he moved on to the next victim at our table. The Sgt. must have shook hands with our good friend Mr. Numb3rs elleventy billion times and then proceded to tell him how Mr. Numb3r's car (350z) and truck (96 nissan truck) cost more than his truck even with all the nasty pimp my ride shit he's done to it. My response (because I'm an intrusive bitch) "Well, he doesn't have a wife. Or kids." To which our good friend Mr. Numb3rs pipes right up and says....

"Imagine the Savings!"

And at that Sgt. Touch-A-Lot finished accosting everyone else in the bar and ambled out to his truck and was gone into the night much to the patrons relief.

*sigh* Why can't I be in there when the fun stuff happens? Like Saturday night when the homeless guy tried to drink the Windex?