Oh, God. This again?

 
When Happy Hour Turns to Baby Hour*
Right now, Mia is calling from her room, “Daddy. Daddy. DADDY!” I just read her half of The Cat in the Hat. Good God, is that fucking book long. I was reading ten minutes before I ever got to Thing One and Thing Two. So, I decided to wrap it up. I mean, it was the furthest we’d ever gotten in the story, so a two-and-a-half-year-old wouldn’t know the difference, would she? Plus, it was an hour (or more) past her bedtime.

Happy Hour was fun. Our increasingly budget-conscious office picked up the tab for everything, which is nice considering how freely the beer and wings were flowing. And how they're having to burn their own money in transitional costs for one of the departing employees. Ever the stingy, greedy free-food whore, I ordered a grilled jerk-chicken sandwich on the side . . . of a lot of beer.

(I just went to Mia’s room for the third time . . . gave her the “this-isn’t-playtime, it’s-bedtime” speech. And she reciprocated with her “‘Night.” Then I grabbed another beer—the last—from the fridge.)

Anyway, fun night. I’m going to drink this beer and perhaps clean up the house (some), as the in-laws are cat-sitting this weekend while we’re out of town, and they’re none-to-impressed with the state of our squaller. Maybe I'll have a lime popcicle, too.

I’ll touch base tomorrow, when I’m slacking off at work. And sober.


* I bet you thought this was going to be a philosophical, when-a-man-becomes-a-father-type posts. Yeah, I crossed that internal bridge about 18 months ago . . . maybe more. But I will say, Mr. Byrne, it really gets easier after 2. Actually, Mr. Byrne the advice I have for you NOW is take advantage of your wife's hormonal horniness. Seriously. Pregger sex doesn't SOUND appealing, but . . . really. Enjoy it. Right up there with the conjugal visits. Trust us.

shaken and poured by Scott-san at 9:02 PM