Last week, Blogger Idol’s -following at home blog entry- was about traditions, and I thought that was easy enough. This week, we are to write about a day in the life of ourselves as the opposite sex. Man – should this day be easy – literally.
Rolling over and smacking the snooze button on my phone, I silence the excruciating loud alarm that refuses to affect my eyes which remain glued shut. My body will begin working just enough, to snooze the alarm, three more times. For the next thirty minutes, being split into three increments of ten minutes each, this alarm will cause just enough havoc to piss my wife off for the morning. She will endure three, yes three – mini heart attacks, at which point she will violently shake the bed in the attempt to knock me out if it – or at least get me turn the alarm off. Approximately ten minutes till seven in the morning, I will give into the earthquake that is ranked a seven on a Richter Scale, and clumsily stumble to the bathroom. Starting the shower, the need to pee will become overwhelming, and looking at the toilet, I will not decide to not use it. The entire bathroom will be filled by a white-hot sticky steam – because I refuse to turn on the fan, because I am a man and I don’t have to. Stepping into the shower, happily like an excited puppy I will pee in the shower – most likely on myself, because my eyes aren’t fully open at this point.
For about thirty-five minutes I will enjoy an uninterrupted and relaxing shower, allowing the scalding hot water to massage my body as I stand there and think about absolutely nothing. Getting out of the shower, I will barely dry by body, as I stand in front of the mirror checking out my twenty-something abs and lack of any fat, along with my boyishly handsome good looks, thinking to myself “I’m sexy and know it!” After staring in anything that has a reflection for a couple more seconds, I will enter our bedroom and slip on my same old work shirt and a pair of Dickie shorts – because I can only wear Dickie. Making sure that the top of my boxers are hanging just a little above my shorts – not gangster low – but low enough. After getting dressed, resuming checking myself out in the mirror and now placing the final touch of a flat-billed cap on my head slightly off kilter – I will say to myself “I’m sexy and I know it”!
My wife is still pretend-sleeping or wishful-sleeping if you will. The kind where – her eyes are closed yet she is still yelling at the kids to brush their teeth, or refereeing a fight that she can hear while still sleeping, kind of sleeping. The kids are up getting ready and my daughter is telling my son how exactly he can breathe and when, and he is telling her she is not his boss and I am not saying a word – because honestly I have tuned them out. Walking back in to the bathroom, I spray myself head to toe obnoxiously with Axe body spray – because I’m sexy and the world should know it . My wife is gagging and choking on the excess amounts of spray that has traveled through the air when she opened her mouth to simply breathe – muttering that I’m an insensitive jerk and to spray myself somewhere else. Maybe tomorrow I will do that, but too late for today.
As I kiss the wife goodbye , tell the kids I love them, its time to head off to work. For the next twenty minutes or so, I will re-join my roots (because I from LA – Santa Monica, but saying L.A, makes me more of a vanilla gangster) by blowing my wife’s speakers in her car. Bumping the bass to the point of where the mirrors are all vibrating to some Eminem – because he is my idol (even though he locks his pregnant wife in the trunk in one of his songs) but you know he is sexy and he knows it – so were cool. My music is so loud in fact that I miss repeated calls from my wife who needs to ask something or check and see if possibly I have the car-seat or her makeup bag that she left in the car – and although it is her car – I am going to tell her she needs to stop leaving her stuff in the car – and then she wouldn’t have to worry about whether she has it or not. She will snap back with “your such a jerk” or my all-time favorite (not!) way of ending a conversation with me – hanging up on me.
At some point on my way to work, I’ll pull into either a Dutch Bros Coffee or Human Bean, turning down my music only slightly – because I am sexy and know it – and the girls at the coffee stand – will know it. Flirting only because its natural and I don’t realize I do it, I may leave with a free coffee – or at the very least a few extra stamps on my punch card. Returning to the road and my beats – I will create my own rendition of Dance, Dance USA, where I am able to dance with my hands, bobbing my head to the beat and still manage to drive the car and not wreck – because I’m invincible and I know it. Upon arriving at work about twenty minutes to eight I will shut of the car – leaving the volume just as high as it was and the keys in the ignition.
For the next 6-8 hours I will deliver mattress, breakdown and set up bed-sets dealing with a variety of customers and streaming the internet during the time in between deliveries, while riding in the truck. Occasionally a hot girl will come up beside us and my co-worker and I will make some crass remark about how we could see ourselves behind that – but then deny to my wife that I ever talk like that. When work is over – I will return to the car – my dance dance – Eminem-bumping ride home to my sons football practice. Pulling into the fields where he is practicing, embarrassing my wife by my loud music, at which time I will actually turn it down some, because the parents heads are all turned – but that’s because I’m sexy and they know it.
Collapsing into a chair that my wife has waiting for me, my wife will ask how my day was. Followed by her suffering from diarrhea of the mouth and fill me in about all the goings on of the day – all the while, I will be on my phone spinning in hopes of some huge jackpot on slotomania. Watching my son’s practice I will get on him for not being tough enough or fast enough and my wife will get on me for being too hard on him – and again call me a jerk. At that point I may or may not retort with “So, have you written your book yet?” knowing this irritates her and I apparently do this purposefully all the time, and I would hate to let her down by not obliging, so I let it fly. Again – she will call me a jerk and I will laugh – making her even more pissed. The noise coming from my unfed stomach will be the driving force behind my tactics of using husband-baby-talk, telling my wife “you are so pretty, quit being such an angry bird” and then ask whats for dinner.
Hearing the kids on the field yell “Eagles” my stomach is happy that practice is over and I can now go home. Relaxing in my recliner, my wife will bring me dinner – something I could easily have prepared for myself but don’t because, well because, she does. Incoherently, I become entranced by the most interesting repeat of an episode of Family Guy, soaking it in as if I have never seen this particular one before – although I have – twenty times. Then, just as the kids are getting ready to settle down, I will begin a UFC showdown in the living room, my wife will get on her laptop typing something or on Facebook – as usual. Throwing the kids, one after the other, across the living room onto our massive bean bag chair – my wife will tell me to stop and tell the kids to settle down. Neither of us are going to acknowledge that we heard her, not this time or the next three warnings that follow. We will stop however, once she says “Really, are you serious right now?” to me, and we know she means business. However, as the kids walk by, most likely I will trip them playfully, causing them to land on the bean bag giggling in hysterics, thinking my wife won’t see – but of course she does and of course she will call me a jerk – again.
Before calling it a night, once again I get to enjoy a scalding hot shower for more than 40 minutes, steaming up the bathroom and again avoiding the use of the fan. Getting out of the shower, my wife in now in our bed, on her laptop, again. To get her attention, I will show her my god given, male talent of “helicopter, helicopter” or the “knocker” where I twist and whack my wiener from one side to the other smiling at my wife – because I am sexy and I know it. She is going to look at me as she always does, thinking why the hell does he do that? – and I’ll say the words that sometimes are magic – I’m gonna get lucky tonight- words “Gettin’ it” – making her blush and laugh – telling me “you can’t say that – don’t say that” slowly crawling into bed next to her, I will repeat it over and over.
Depending on how big of a jerk I actually was today she will decide if my attempt of touching her will in-fact, pay off. If her back is to me, I will spoon her and purposely push my man-junk against her – knocking at the door – if you will, to see if she will allow a visit from the evening wood-fairy. Sometimes she lets him in for a quick visit, sometimes a little longer and sometimes she has a headache – of course! Following either option I will fall asleep on my wife, weighing her body down by my muscular studly body – because I am sexy and I know it – and she will repeatedly beg me to move over and quit taking over the entire bed. For five minutes I will oblige, only to assume my previous position drifting off into a deep sleep.
I have a hard life, don’t you think?
See you next blog – Jess(e)
(This of course is my rendition – my husband says he is nothing like this)