My Friday evening ended on the early side, with me home and mostly sober by eleven o'clock. K. rang me after he got out of the theater to say that some of the cast and crew were going out for a drink to celebrate the end of tech. He said he'd be out for about an hour. I ate my dinner to Will & Grace reruns and passed out on the couch around midnight.
I woke up shortly after one and there was no word from K. By two, no K. By three, no K. By quarter after four, he was finally in a cab on the way home. And he was d-r-u-n-k. I tried to talk him through the ride, but he hung up on me when his evening's worth of fun threatened to come back up across the Queensborough Bridge.
I know - sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it?
He arrived home at half past four, having somehow managed to keep his stomach together. The difference between Drunk MAK and Drunk K. is that K. is a bouncy, goofy drunk whereas I am sour and belligerent. He was chattering away happily - on his back in the middle of the dining room floor - attempting to recount his evening for me. We tried this conversation about fourteen times. He would say, "And do you know what they have in the big jugs at the Russian vodka bar?" And each time I'd say "Vodka?" his attention would wander and we'd have to start all over again.
By the time he was ready to visit the porcelain goddess, he all but joyfully skipped to the bathroom. Finally, by five o'clock in the morning, we were both sound asleep. Or at least he was sound asleep and spread eagle smack dab in the middle of the bed with a smile on his face and I was attempting to simultaneously zonk out and cling to the side of the mattress by my fingernails.
I should have gotten out the digital camera and taken some sweet revenge photos to counter his blackmail material from last week. It would have been the smart thing to do. But my camera battery was dead...and I couldn't remember where I'd hidden his. So I took the high road instead:
While he was in the cab, I got out the scrub brush and Clorox and tackled the toilet so that he'd have a nice, fresh bowl to hug.
Choosing four a.m. TLC over photographic blackmail. Now that's love.
Posted by mak at October 30, 2005 7:11 PMThat sure is love. You're a good partner!
Posted by: Jess at October 31, 2005 5:57 AMThe things we do for and TO our Partners.
You're a better man then I am. I would have ran to the nearest Walgreens if I had to, just to get a camera.
Posted by: mark at October 31, 2005 9:49 AMI agree with Mark. I already told MAK Saturday morning that it wasn't fair that K got away with it while he was tortured with his drunken nude slumber. Definitely a better man than I...with all the mean and cruel tricks my boyfriend plays on me in my sleep for his humor, I'd be out for the disposable too if my digital camera batteries were dead.
Posted by: Scottie T. at October 31, 2005 11:10 AMAh, L'Amour! L'amour!
Posted by: Hanuman at October 31, 2005 12:21 PMYou two must be in love - how sweet!
Posted by: Spider at October 31, 2005 1:28 PMI'd like to echo all the "Ah, you're so sweet" comments, but I'm concerned you may be going seriously mushy and soft on us. It's OK to get all lovey-dovey and sappy when you're talking about the cutest niece in the world. However, when it comes to the opportunity for revenge, your faithful readers expect more from you. You could have polished the porcelain AND taken incriminating photos, you know. Tsk. Tsk. So very disappointing.
Posted by: Jeffrey at October 31, 2005 1:48 PMBlackmail is far more entertaining to the masses than that icky ol' love thang.
Posted by: palochi at October 31, 2005 2:36 PM