A couple of weeks ago, my husband approached me and spoke the words I’ve been longing to hear since our son was born.
No, not: “I’m finally going to stop bugging you about butt stuff.”
No, not: “I’m so over sticking my hands down my pants while watching television.”
No, not: “I promise to never again leave my dirty clothes on the kitchen floor after coming home from work and undressing in front of the stove like a crazy person.”
(Though, let’s be honest. I never had the slightest expectation that my husband would say any of those things. Because I am a realistic woman.)
This is what he did say, however:
“So . . . I’m thinking about taking our son on a day trip.”
Here was my external reaction:
My internal reaction, however, was more like:
“Oh, really?” I replied, casually. “Where you gonna take him?”
“Down to Cincinnati to watch Nadal play some tennis.”
“Huh,” I said, disinterestedly. Because you gots to play it cool, am I right? Even when you’re already making a “My Day Off” mix tape in your head. (First song? “Celebration” by Kool & the Gang.)
“Wanna come along?” asked my husband.
Um . . .
But it was a fine line I needed to walk. I had to seem like I wanted to go, but not enough to make my husband think I really should go.
“Nah,” I smiled. “You two go on and have a special father-son day.”
“You sure?” asked my husband, sounding concerned. “You won’t be too lonely?”
Now. I’m all about Real Talk™ here on est. 1975, so I’ll freely admit that what was running through my head was this:
“FUCK NO, I WILL NOT BE LONELY. ARE YOU KIDDING? I’M ACTUALLY GOING TO HAVE AN ENTIRE TWELVE HOURS ALL TO MYSELF! THIS IS BETTER THAN WINNING THE LOTTERY. THIS IS BETTER THAN MULTIPLE ORGASMS. THIS IS BETTER THAN PEEING AFTER YOU REALLY HAVE TO GO FOR LIKE FIVE HOURS.”
But what I actually said was this: “Of course I won’t be lonely! You guys will have an awesome time.”
Wow. Such cool. Very cucumber.
So my husband and son clambered into the car, all excited to go watch athletes of some nature play some kind of sport I didn’t care about, and I waved at them through the window and blew them a thousand kisses. Kisses that were fake as hell. Because as soon as my husband’s car was out of sight, My Day Off began.
I even had an agenda.
MY DAY OFF: AGENDA
10:30 AM: Immediately turn off the television. Relish the fact that for twelve hours I will not once have to watch SportsCenter or hear the theme song to Teen Titans Go!
11:00 AM: Go directly to KFC for lunch. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Do not wear a bra or put on deodorant.
12:00 PM: *burp*
12:30 PM: Say to myself: “While they’re gone, I might as well get some work done.” Then laugh and laugh because YEAH, RIGHT. Spend the next two hours watching YouTube videos.
2:30 PM: Start to feel legitimately bad about not doing anything productive. Do three sit-ups and feed the cat.
3:00 PM: ZZZzzzzz.
5:00 PM: Wake up from my nap with a mouth as dry and gritty as the floor of an ancient Egyptian burial chamber. Chug five glasses of water while watching more YouTube.
6:30 PM: *beep boop beep* “Hello, is this Pizza Hut?”
8:00 PM: “Shit. They’re going to be back in less than three hours. I haven’t done any work. I haven’t done any cleaning. I haven’t even showered. I better get something done pronto. But first, I’ll just check Facebook.”
8:30 PM: Still on Facebook.
9:00 PM: Still on Facebook.
9:30 PM: Still on Facebook.
10:00 PM: Realize that My Day Off is almost over and I have literally nothing to show for it. Decide to at least put on some clean pajamas, then change my mind, because that would just make for extra laundry.
10:30 PM: Hear the garage door open. Quickly dive into bed, turn off the lamp, and commence with fake snoring, because twelve hours clearly wasn’t enough time alone and I still want more. Does that make me a bad wife and mother? Maybe. Do I care?
Not even a little.
“KFC Store” – CC BY 2.0; File:KFC signs – Old and New.jpg; Uploaded by Jayblue42; Created: 11 June 2006 — Modified
Michelle Visage .gif – Source unknown, footage from Rupaul’s Drag Race, aired on LogoTV