“Love, let’s do something fun this weekend, something exciting!”
Normally, when Monica utters these words this is my cue to break out Venn diagrams showing “fun” in one circle and “exciting” in another non-overlapping circle to illustrate that these are mutually exclusive activities. And before she gets a chance to interject “logical” and “reasonable” arguments, I remind her that one of the costs of basking in the awesomeness that comes with being married to me is my need to devote adequate whining and pouting time to each request before addressing the next. If we start throwing out suggestions willy-nilly, chaos would undoubtedly ensue.
“Besides,” I continue, “Friday is Stir Fry night, Saturday we torture ourselves into a stupor on the treadmill, and Sunday is obviously Netflixing or football.”
“You know there are enough hours in the day to do more than one thing, right?” I’m sure she means to be rhetorical, but the look on her face tells me she kinda wants to make sure we’re on the same page.
“Yup, I get it. No need to brag about your multitasking mastery. But maybe you’re forgetting the dirty dishes, and laundry and…” (I sometimes draw a blank on the rest of my househusband chores, but I’m sure there are plenty of other things I’m supposed to do.)
I finish with the coup de gras. “And of course, we have to watch 40 hours of Netflix each week if we want to get our money’s worth.”
These points may not be as persuasive as you’d think, but it’s important that we keep trying. That’s how we grow.
However, this is prime vampire hunting season. My househusband chores can wait, and as much as it pains me to slack off on Netflixing, this is the year. I can feel it. We’re gonna find Dracula.*
Now, when Monica suggests we do something fun and exciting, I’m ready with date night suggestions…
“Wanna go check out a cemetery?”
