Thursday, February 13, 2014

My Night With My Bride

Kristine went to school. I stayed home with the kids, as usual. She had made them supper and I arrived home late, pushing some project at work.

After class, she called me and said she had to go get a few groceries. I asked her to come home and we could go together after the kids went to bed. So she did.

We went to Wal-Mart and smelled candles. They were all gross, but she bought dozens anyway. Then they smelled good.  

Then she bought a few pairs of delicious thongs (ignoring my protests about money), a utilitarian bra (is there another worthwhile kind?), and a few groceries. After that, we happened upon the aisle of tea.

Tea is good, here in Minnesota, where it's cold and snowy for 11.5 months out of the year. That other half-month finds us 'Sotans cowering inside by the fire, listening to the drowning whine of mosquitoes, the unofficial state bird. Oddly enough, all babies in this state are born exactly nine months later. I'm not quite sure when that month is, because I lost track of our babies after we had two, on our way to six or whatever we ended up with.

Then, we went through the check out line. The few groceries became a $168 bill and we whistled our way to the car, the parking lot smelling like flowers and cupcakes, coming from the candles in the cart.

On the way home, I begged Kristine to go out with me to get a drink. I had walked past a twelve pack of Heineken and, even though I'm not a huge fan, got thirsty. We ended up at Carbone's in Farmington.

The parking lot had three cars in it. We were the third. 

"Lots of people here," Kristine said.

At that exact moment, the door of the bar swung open and a gentleman walked out.

"Even more popular now," I retorted.

We entered and found a table. About a half-dozen, swearing regulars, yelling about a jacket used to flick a bean (I have no clue what the context was) were sitting at the bar. They acknowledged us with their drunken looks. The bartender came over and offered us drinks, informing us the kitchen was closed.

We were hungry, but decided two beers on an empty stomach might do the deed. The manager of the establishment was walking around, vacuuming the floor. It was 11 at night.

We dove into conversation. Pleasantries were exchanged. Phones were fondled. Then more pleasantries. Mid-sentence, the manager walked up to us.

"You guys want a pizza?"

"The kitchen is closed, we thought."

He shrugged. Then he helped us order a pizza, personally made it, and brought it out to us. A few minutes later, he popped back over and slapped a slice of his new creation, Stroganoff Pizza, onto the table, then stood there, eagerly waiting for our verdict. My god, that was a good slice! His eyes twinkled and his vacuuming became just a bit more efficient after we gave him the thumbs up and mumbled exclamations with our mouths full.

Other employees came and introduced themselves with one even telling us her life story. She's 32 and just got out of a 9-year relationship. No need to worry. With her confidence, she'll be fine.

Then, we went home and fell asleep, wrapped up in each other's arms.

Did I mention that I really love my wife? I did.

1 comment:

  1. Awesome! Your a good husband! I loved that story....