Last weekend Liz went to Arkansas to visit family, leaving me alone and unsupervised. Anytime she leaves town, she reminds me to behave myself. I’m pretty sure she does this just to be nice, because she certainly doesn’t need to – she knows as well as I do that I don’t have the energy to misbehave anymore.
Combine those horror stories with what some of my buddies do while the cat’s away, and I think she’s got a pretty good deal. I may not get a lot done in her absence (and before you even ask, yes I do expect the lawn to mow itself) but neither do I do anything that’s going to bankrupt us, get me arrested, or require a regimen of antibiotics.
Spousal transgressions of the husband kind seem to fall roughly into three groups.
Being a good gambler requires a sharp memory and basic math skills. If I had these tools, I’d be a broker or maybe a bookie, not a blogger. The biggest risk I take is braving the South Congress HEB parking lot at noon on Sunday when mass at St. Ignatius Martyr across the street lets out.
Some guys will use their wife’s absence to over-serve themselves. Apart from espresso tweaking, the only beverage I over-indulge in is Topo Chico, that hyper-carbonated mineral water from Mexico. This habit is not likely to make me wreck my car or pick a fight with a cop, but one time I belched so vigorously that it required a trip to the AM/PM clinic.
Even if I were so inclined, hooking up requires a) leaving the house – and I’ve already been to HEB, so screw that – and b) actually talking to people. For an introvert like me, that’s a non-starter. Plus, there’s that 10 p.m. lights-out, and no one wants to fall asleep mid-philander. That’s just rude.
While I find the behavior of my fellow dudes often amazing and sometimes appalling, they can set the bar so low that even I look exemplary in comparison. So, good work, lads, and steady on.