Good Thing I'm Already "In"

Hello theeere. Today my hubby will be guest blogging (hi hun). Enjoy...and get your bathroom break in and snacks in now. We like to tell stories.

Hi. I'm "guest-blogging" today and Sunshine probably wouldn't do this justice anyway....I'm certainly not as funny as she is, so I'll forgive you if you fall asleep or are distracted, by, well, just about anything...

We're on our anniversary vay-cay this weekend to the beach. The weather has been PERFECT, and we've both commented on how relaxed and simple the weekend has been. I think that's mainly because we are SANS-Kiddies. Don't get me wrong, I love the girleeo's to death, but time alone with the wifey is very, VERY good and seldom seen.

The day was spent mostly shopping between two towns. Okay, she shopped, I sat outside and worked on my hubby-shopper's tan. (it looks exactly like a farmer's tan, but you don't get ANY of the aerobic conditioning that goes along with farming.) After countless stores and a nice walk on the beach, it was time to get ready for "happy hour".

A glass of wine (that's one -- keep track now, people) and a few minutes on the deck of our room, and an hour getting ready (yes, I had to state the obvious), and we were off -- up the street to the town's famed chowder house, with a stop at a small little "wine cafe" along the way. HAPPY HOUR. Once at the cafe, we spent the next ten minutes going over the wine list. If Yellow Tail isn't on the list, we're lost. I should say here that I don't drink wine. I drink beer. I have an old war injury that keeps my pinkies from sticking out, which is a must for connoisseurs at the wine bottle. Sort of like holding a cigar with two fingers. It works, but do you really want to project that image? I'm just saying...

So what was I saying? Oh yeah, HAPPY HOUR. So we're at this great little place, sitting outside because the weather was PERFECT (did I mention that?). After a few minutes, the barista (I'll be technical) lady comes out to order, and wifey's phone rings. Mind you, her phone has not rung ALL DAY. So we're doing just about the RUDEST thing you can do when ordering; talking on the phone. But, it's important. no really. Anyway, so after about 10 minutes (no, really), the barista comes back with our wine selection...and yes, just as soon as she walks up, wifey's phone rings. AGAIN. Seriously? I have two friends, none of whom call me. But that's just me. So we enjoy our glass of red (Glass #2 ... you're keeping tabs, right?) -- again, I can't get technical with wine; it's either red or white -- and we decide we need an appetizer. So when the barista comes out again (10 minutes later) we order an antipasta (olives, almonds, cheese, crackers and salami) -- okay I order, because YES, wifey's phone rings AGAIN. Seriously?! I made a joke to the barista that she must have a vibe that sets my wife's phone off -- I don't think she thought that was funny. Anyway, so after a good long wait (they had to import the cheese from Italy) we get our app. But our glasses are empty, so we order a white (Glass #3) wine. I'm to the point here where I need to quote the shampoo bottle and just say "repeat". You get the idea. 10 minutes wait, barista out, phone rings. Anyway, so after wifey finishes (downs?) her glass, we set off to the famed Chowder house. It's a short walk up the street, or in our case, zig-zag.

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Okay, intermission. This is where it gets good. no, really. So take a deep breath, grab a "non-fat light whip Medium extra hot Mexican Mocha with a dash of Cinnamon" (that's a WHOLE other story), or a glass of white, and we'll start up.
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So we giggle our way to the restaurant. It is PACKED, and there's a total of 10 tables there. I HATE being in a new place with lots of people trying to get something done. But anyway, we order. Fish and chips, a bowl of (famed!) clam chowder, a glass of wine (#4) and...thank God, a beer. We try to sit outside, but it's just a bit too chilly, and as we walk in a "corner" table opens up, so we snag it. So we're enjoying our CORNER table together, alone, waiting for our DEEE-licious food. So we start talking. Talking about things that we probably shouldn't be talking about in a family restaurant; but at least we're in the corner. To compensate for the corner, Wifey starts getting loud with our conversation. Too loud. Embarrassing loud. But that embarrassment is short lived, because Wifey's phone rings. AGAIN. But this time she's started a texting-battle with a friend, so every few minutes she's digging out her phone to read, laugh, and text. At least she's not ON the phone, right?

Sorry, I need to digress here a minute. A couple of months ago, when she picked up her new phone, I made a few "modifications". Namely, I plastered my smiley face within her phone, and I gave her a great ring tone for when she gets text messages. I put "Brass Monkey" on from the Beastie Boys. It's great for a little beat-box jam session. She hates it, but I've yet to change it.

So after 10 minutes and 5 texts, our food finally starts to arrive. But not all at once. Our fish'n'chips comes first, and we have to ask for the rest. So it comes staggered. But we start eating 'cuz we're just that hungry. And very giggly. The drinks come, and we start in. THEN, the chowder comes. It looks GREAT. And Tasty. A nice FULL steaming bowl. It's right there, in between us. But Wifey is concentrating on other things. Her phone rings -- or should I say, the beat box goes off. But she's just a bit too tipsy / uncoordinated / you get the idea to pull it neatly from her purse. So she plays hot potato with it for a couple of seconds before it falls onto the table and then onto the floor. Kerplat. A few people look up. Here's where time stops. She drops to pick up the phone ( because it's important ) and drops her other hand -- RIGHT IN THE CHOWDER. She slowly pulls up (like she's realized something is amiss) and looks at her hand. She's concerned about the phone, but also that her hand stings and is COMPLETELY soaked in Chowder. Of course, she pulls her hand BACK instead of up, pulling the Chowder bowl off the table and on to -- yes, her lap. And the floor, and the phone that is still on the floor. And her phone goes off. So Brass Monkey is vibrating in a puddle of Chowder on the floor. Wifey is crying because her hand is completely covered in steaming chowder. And because everything seems to be sitting on a stack of dimes, her flailing knocks over the tartar sauce for the fish.

At least we were in a corner table. At least this wasn't a first date. Or a blind date. Thankfully, wifey is just that ... WIFEY. She's in. This was the kind of quiet, romantic evening that would scare anybody away from dating. Or being out SANS kiddos. At least spilled Cheerios don't leave a mark.

200 napkins later, a brief tasting of what was left of the (really good) clam chowder, and a few crying screams for hubby to "go get the car"... we're zig-zagging home, with purse halfway covering (or perhaps highlighting) the clam-chowder glob on her shorts, to the intermittent tunes of Brass Monkey vibrating on the beat box.

I hate that song.