The Mrs., Trooper

Some days, I sets and thinks.
Some days, I just sets.
And some days, I shake my head and wonder what in the hell just happened.

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day. Probably this does not come as any great news flash except most of you are reading this on Monday and didn't bother to notice I wrote this Sunday night. If there's one thing my loyal fans are, it's not too bright. Otherwise, you'd be over at some other blog being really entertained as, honest to god, there is nothing funnier than head injury jokes. But here you are instead.

So, what is St. Patrick famous for? Anyone? Anyone?

You there - the lumberjack looking fellow... Green beer? No. Not green beer. Good try, though. Oh? Oh, I thought you were answering the question. Sure, I'll take one. Yes, large.

Anyone else? Anyone? Anyone?

Inventing basketball? Nooooo... Not, not parquet floors, either.

Wow, a bunch of winners here today. Yes, you - the manly-looking woman with the Subaru station wagon... Doing something nasty with snakes? Close enough.

St. Patrick is famous for doing nasty things with snakes. Things that would violate the tenets of
the left-wing of America today. That's right, folks. If you're a Democrat, you are required to disapprove of St. Patrick, the animal killer and disrupter of native species. If you're a Republican, you are allowed to think, "Man, wouldn't that have been cool to sit up on a berm with a scattergun when all those snakes came by? Woo Hoo!" But Democrats must tsk tsk about the whole episode and sit idly by while Republicans whoop it up on St. Patrick's Day. In your mind, substitute "Columbus" for "St. Patrick's" in case you are having difficulty understanding that your party has moved so far away from you that you are now required to shun a day dedicated to drunken ribaldry. Unless you live in San Francisco, and then the Folsom Street Fair is still OK, since it mainly celebrates the flamboyant homosexual lifestyle and not a lifestyle dedicated to God and to free a people overrun by serpents.

I wonder how many fish were killed when God parted the Red Sea for Moses?

But I digress. So the Denver Zoo gets into the St. Patrick's Day spirit by having a lot of special snake things. Like, you're allowed to pet snakes. And, since we bought an annual membership to the zoo last weekend, it was "free". So we went. The whole snake encounter thing is a bit oversold, as they have one and only one snake available for petting at a time. Hannah got to pet two snakes during the four-ish hours we were there.

Then, the kids started to get bored, so The Mrs. decides we should run next door to the Museum of Nature ans Science, where we are also members. There's a Ben Franklin exhibit there that she wanted to see. So we schlepped over there and saw that, despite both MaxieC and Me, CherkyB having had our fill of tourist stuff already.

Then we went home, and everyone took a nap, though not everyone admitted it, except Me, CherkyB. I had to drive. As my reward for all that driving, I drove right past the turn-in for our subdivision.

The Mrs. immediately says, "Are you going to the liquor store?"

Ahhh. I've become too predictable. I had been complaining that we were out of beer, and you have to buy beer at liquor stores in Colorado, and they aren't allowed to be open on Sundays. And yes, I was going to the liquor store.

The Mrs. then says, "I think I'd like to have some beer. What kind of beer do they have that I'd like?"

We decide on Beck's, as it is the only beer she drinks without complaining and has been for the last 5 years. I'm always surprised that she doesn't just ask, "Do they have Beck's?" But she would then argue that she also likes Sapporo. However, I have purchased her Sapporo, and she has complained about it. She only like Sapporo when it is at the sushi restaurant and is accompanied by hundreds of dollars of raw fish.

We get home, and I am watching The Childrens in the driveway while The Mrs. unpacks all the stuff we needed to go to the zoo. We look across the street, and the kids are out there playing in their driveways on their scooter. HannahC starts whining about how she wants to go play with them. So I say, "Fine. I'll walk you over." She hops on her scooter and zooms over there before I can even scoop up MaxieC. Then MaxieC starts complaining that he needs to ride his scooter over there, too.

Well, this is more work, as I can't just let MaxieC go over to the neighbors. He needs constant supervision. And his scooter is very, very slow. By the time we get there, the rest of the childrens are no longer interested in scootering, but have gone into the backyard. I follow.

After much playing, during which time MaxieC decided it was a great idea to shove pea gravel up his nose, and then took 10 minutes of digging to get it all out again, during which time he absolutely insisted that he did NOT have gravel up his nose, it was at long last time to head home. But the older neighbor child first begged for HannahC to stay for dinner, then for our whole family to come over. After some telephone negotiations between the womens (which went on after we had returned home) we headed back. This was great, as our famblies get along quite nicely.

A good time was had by all, but halfway through I noticed that The Mrs. was drinking something that was being referred to as "a martini". Now, I've known The Mrs. for an exceptionally long time, and never during that entire time has she liked a martini. Not once.

But this was no ordinary martini. No. It was something called a "lemon drop martini" (if I remember correctly), and it was more or less lemonade with lemon-flavored vodka in it. I've had lemon drop shooters at The Town Pump, and they are definitely tasty. I took a peek at the recipe for this martini, and aside from it having vodka (citrus vodka at that) in it and the glass in which it was served, I have no idea what classifies it as a martini. The Mrs. at one point asked for more ice, which she proceeded to float in the "martini".

I'm telling you, it was spiked lemonade.

But The Mrs. pounded them down like they were going out of style. Meaning she had two. After having had a beer prior. That, my friends, would normally be the recipe for a wonderful evening, except it was far too early for any such luck.

We eventually got the kids in bed, and then settled in to watch a moovie. The Mrs. requested a rum and coke to go with the moovie, as she wanted to keep the buzz alive. We can certainly accommodate that. Hell, I can make it a double.

About 40 minutes into the moovie, I look over and The Mrs. looks asleep. I talk to her. She is kinda half-awake, half-asleep. She claims not to remember anything from the moovie so far. We head to bed. I have to put HannahC to bed, as she was in the basement watching E.T.

When I get to bed, The Mrs. is still awake. She then utters one of the most wonderful things she has ever said to me for as long as I have known her:

If I pass out in the middle, go ahead and finish. I won't mind.

What a trooper.