We've Been Found Out

Somebody, after a special time together with their spouse this weekend, when they were feeling extra super close and intimate and confusing he is so my BFF with just he is my pal, confessed to their SO.

One of us out there leaned in close and whispered, "You know, honey, how when you call me from work and ask my how my day is and I say awful? Almost didn't survive. The twins just about did me in today. Can you stop on the way home and get take out?"

"Yeah?"

"Well.

Some days, it's not that bad.
Some days, it's pretty good.

My friends come over.

And we have our coffee with Bailey's.

If it's after 12:00, we'll have the opened box of Franzia's in the fridge (more affordable and better for the environment), mixed with a little Mott's apple juice. It doesn't sound good, but it really is.

One day a few weeks ago, Cindy was over with some others for our Sports Equipment Acquisition Meeting and mixed too little of the Mott's with too much of the Zin, and I didn't have time to go to the store for cheese and crackers because I had to run back here after school drop off and clean the toilets before anyone came over, so there was the wine on the empty stomach and next thing you know she freaked out -- even though she was fine -- about having to leave and pick up her kids from school.

She forgot her Xanax that morning because she was in a hurry to get here, and so with the Franzia in combination with the no Xanax and no Cheddar she spun into this full huge panic attack -- have you ever seen one of those? -- and half of us had to stay with her and talk her off the ledge, and the other half of us split up and got her kids to piano, soccer, and swim.

Even though I personally think it was just low blood sugar, we decided not to let Cindy make her own wine-apple sippers anymore.

So, some days are pretty hard.
But some days really aren't that bad."
                        *
Yeah and Thank you for that Miss-Gets-Weak-In-The-Knees-By-A-Little-George-Clooney-Weekend Stubble. Now the cat's out of the bag.

Which is why there are these posters up on every single street corner of the subdivision this morning:

*24/7 Party Alert*

If you hear of a party about to happen under the guise of  "playdate" or "playgroup" or "book club" or "school fund raiser meeting," please call this number 26I-KNOW.


Ingestion of alcohol may be occurring.


Your call will be kept in confidence ... you may make it anonymously if you choose.


A family member will contact the homeowner, the party host and /or the appropriate responsible party without identifying the original caller.

Any of these parties under the cover of a legit activity has the potential to result in unweeded yards, garbage days being missed, frozen Encore for dinner, and unwalked dogs.

There may also be alcohol loosened lips resulting in gossip being spread that was sworn to secrecy, physical injury from ones thinking they can still dance to Flo Rida, and assault over someone outdoing another in their Bakasana crane pose.

This hotline is staffed Monday through Friday, from 9:00 - 3:00 PM.

PLEASE CALL and an appropriate chaperone will be dispatched to monitor the "Plant Sale Committee" in session.

Thank you.

*thanks and no thanks, you know who you are. We realize the flesh is weak, but still -- next time you find yourself wobbly weak in resistance to weekend time with your spouse, commit to zipping your lip first. And if you dare let in on why we actually go to Story Time [30 minutes alone, with People magazine] consider yourself alone, mixing your own Mott's Specials from now on. 

 Flickr via Photopin cc

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