The house was quiet last night, except for the cricket that seems to have invaded my kitchen. All the family was gone for the evening, so I was able to sit with a frosty iced tea and catch up on the 12 hours of TV that I am behind.
Seemed strange not having my "peeps" around. (I have always wanted to use that slang term in a blog, I was just waiting for the right time.) Debi was painting a vanity in her house, Jim was at work, and Dorothy was in Flagstaff at a concert. The house was now my man cave.
What does a 56 year old fat man do when he has the house to himself? He surrounds himself with chips, pop, and plenty of sandwich meat and has at it. I sat for four hours and delved into TV. I watched the Bears lose miserably while I yelled at them, and I sat and enjoyed a show called "Mental". I like that show because the main character bucks the system, yet lives within its boundaries.
When I wanted to get in the pool I did; when I wanted to get out, I did; I ate what I wanted. I adhered to no schedule and let no schedule adhere to me. I was the wind.
For one evening, I was a bachelor and lived the good life, but without the strip clubs. And it felt good. No one to bug me, no one to ask me, "Hey, Daddy" questions, no one to press me to do floors, or hang pictures. I felt like Al Bundy.
When I finally went to bed early in the morning hours, I did what every man who is married does when he is in bed. I slept.
In reality, I missed the hubbub which is my family. They always make me laugh, even when they are laughing at me. Too much silence is a not a good thing, because dirty dishes in the sink seem to scream at me.
My mom (read here, Dorothy) comes home this afternoon, better have the floors done and the pictures hung.
Doughnut
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