In the 32 years I have known my wife I have had to do things or to go places or to listen to things that I have absolutely no interest in.
That part of a relationship is called a “given”.
When it comes right down to it there are two basic things in life that a man really wants from a woman and they both begin with the letter “P”.
One of them is peace.
On Saturday night one of my wife’s friends had a 70’s party at her house. I know from experience that I had to pretend I really wanted to go this party.
I had to pretend because I know that she, like all women, doesn’t just want me to go, she wants me to “want” to go.
So I have to fake it.
I also know that after 32 years she knows that I’m faking it. But as long as I keep the lie to myself I have peace. But if I make even the slightest negative comment…. Well let’s just say I’m not making a negative comment.
And that’s the hard part.
The toughest thing to do when you’re a man is to resist the temptation to ask the following question even though every fiber of your being is screaming to know the answer. The question will go something like this:
“So… how long do you think we’re going to have to be there?”
Game over Batman.
We can’t help ourselves.
So I’m pretending that I want to go this party and fighting the urge to find out what time we can get the hell out of there.
This 70’s party is a costume party.
I have to dress up in a 70’s theme.
I went to my little section of our closets.
Nope. No 70’s stuff.
I guess I’ll just wear a pair of Dockers and collared shirt.
So I have to pretend that I “want” to wear a costume to a party that I’m pretending I “want” to go to.
By the time we left the costume shop I was one half of “Two wild and crazy guys” from Steve Martin and Dan Aykroyd on Saturday Night Live.
Two guys dressed that way could be funny.
Thirty years ago.
One guy dressed that way today is well… think gay pride parade.
But I’m keeping my mouth shut because at this point not only is she going to owe me both the known “P’s” I’m going to make up a few new ones.
I never bothered to ask where the party was ahead of time, because I didn’t want to go, so when we went to leave I asked my wife if she knew where we were going.
“Don’t worry I printed it out from Map Quest. I think they live in Escondido.”
I know how to get to Escondido.
So I head out Interstate 8 “East” to 163 North to 15 North to Escondido.
“Okay babe now what? We’re coming up to Escondido.”
“Take the 78 “West” to Oceanside.”
“We need to go to west.”
“West? Ummm… Honey… Where is this party exactly?”
“Let me see…. It’s in La Costa.”
“Uh huh… Honey… When you searched for the directions for her house what did you use as the starting address?”
“Um…. My work address.”
“Uh huh... So what you’re telling me is we just drove 30 minutes out of our way to someplace that was basically a straight line NORTH from our HOUSE!!!!!”
“Don’t yell at me you know I don’t do directions.”
There was an old movie called “God is my Co-Pilot”.
My co-pilot was a forty nine year old premenopausal Portuguese woman dressed as a disco diva that was using one pair of glasses to read the directions and another to read the street signs.
“You need to turn on Paseo Caciendo. Ooooh! That was it back there.”
“Don’t you think it would be a good idea to tell me where to turn before we pass the street?”
“That’s right, shut up. If we had taken my car we could have used the GPS but you always want to drive your Cadillac.”
“If I need to I can use OnStar! You have the directions in your hand!”
“Just shut up.”
Oh this is going to be fun.
Thirty minutes later after driving down every street that started with “Paseo” we found the house.
When you’re the only sober person at a 70’s party you become an observer.
Why is it that middle age white men feel the need to look like complete idiots?
If you’re old and fat….
Don’t dress up like K.C. without the Sunshine Band.
Why is it that middle age white women dance in packs?
What the hell are they hunting?
All the women were dancing until “Cher” knocked over and broke the authentic 70’s lava lamp.
Then an elated “Sonny” grabbed “Cher” and got the chance to get the hell out of there because it “was time for her to go home.”
Why didn’t I think of breaking that lamp?
It was as bring your own booze party.
My wife brought scotch.
About a fourth of a bottle of scotch.
Who brings and open bottle to a BYOB party?
Apparently my wife.
Because that was all she was going to drink.
So after switching to vodka when the scotch was gone…………..
Needless to say I had no co-pilot going home.
At two o’clock in the morning.
I got lost.
I couldn’t find the freeway.
I drove around in circles for almost half and hour.
Disco Dolly is passed out in the front seat snoring.
Well there goes at least one of the “P’s”.
Finally I saw a cop car parked at an intersection.
Here’s a little heads up.
If you’re driving around lost at 2:30 in the morning dressed in a silver quiana shirt, skin tight checkered Angel Flight style pants, platform shoes with dice in the heels and Disco Dolly passed out in your front seat it’s a little tough to ask a police officer for directions.
“I know this is going to sound crazy officer but I swear I’ve had nothing to drink and I’m not gay. I’m just lost.”
“Uh huh… And just what are you supposed to be?”
“Enough said. Where are you trying to go?”
“Well not the Y.M.C.A. I’ll tell you that. Sorry officer just joking. I’m trying to find the entrance to the freeway.”
“Turn right at this corner it’s about two blocks away.”
“By the way how come you don’t have a GPS navigation system in that car?”
“I.. um… I have On Star.”
“Why didn’t you use it?”
“I forgot about it.”
“And you’ve had nothing to drink?”
“Officer would you take the chance, dressed like this, to drink and drive?”
“Well Excu-u-u-u-se me!!!”
“Excuse what officer?”
“Steve Martin? Saturday Night Live? Get it?”
(There is no god.)
“Oh… sure… Ha ha.. I get it.”
He laughed and waved and told me that “he’d catch me on the flip side” whatever that meant.
We got home just after 3:00am. Disco Dolly briefly came to as I got her out of the car proclaiming, “This was the best party ever!”
I got her upstairs and plopped her down on the bed.
Here’s the thing about being a man….
You see a woman in a miniskirt and six inch platform knee high boots passed out drunk on your bed….
No… I didn’t.
Get your mind out of the gutter.
I wasn’t going to “boogie wonderland” at that point.
I slept downstairs on the couch.
When she woke up my wife wasn’t her normal cheery self.
“Shut up! Stop making so much noise with the newspaper. Do you have to breathe so loud? Do you even have to breathe?”
“Not feeling so groovy this morning honey?”
“Don’t make me kill you.”
“Oh I will survive honey cause I'm stayin alive stayin alive ha ha ha ha stayin aliiiiiiiii...OUCH!!!”