Sunday, October 28, 2007

in a perfect world...


A recent post by Angry Betty over at ’48 DDD’ got me thinking about grief.
Not the grief associated with a death in the family; the grief a man gets when he comes home later than promised from a night out with the boys.
What man hasn’t stealthily tried to break into his own home at 4am, get undressed and slide unnoticed into the bed, only to find the handbrake sitting there, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation ??
‘WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN ???’
‘Out with clients.’
‘YOU SAID YOU’D BE HOME BY TEN... IT’S FOUR O’FUCKING CLOCK.’
‘Sorry baby…they wouldn’t let me leave. It was awful.’
‘SO, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING UNTIL NOW ???’
‘Nothing…just drinking…talking…watching sports on TV.’
‘BULLSHIT !!! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TELL ME THE TRUTH BEFORE YOU GO OUT…WHY CAN’T YOU TELL ME YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE…WHY DO I HAVE TO STAY UP TILL ALL HOURS WORRYING…ALL I WANT IS THE TRUTH…WHY, WHY, WHY…’
OK, beeotches…how does this sound ???

We ring as we’re leaving work (you remember work, right ??)…we say we’re going to the pub to get lashed. Then we’re going to leave the pub around 10 (the same time you’re expecting us home) and have a curry coz we’re so drunk no decent restaurant will let us in. At midnight we’ll be thrown out of the curry joint, so we’ll head to the casino and dump a week’s wages on the tables, making that weekend away to The Blue Mountains you were planning a complete financial wash-out. Angry at losing all our money, we’ll head off to the lap-dance emporium to wallow in self-pity, stuff money into strippers’ g-strings and have shaving cream rubbed into our suits. When our credit cards are eventually declined, we will drive home, stopping briefly for a lamb-kebab with extra garlic hummus, after which we will crawl into bed, pester you for sex, then fall asleep and snore for the rest of the evening…

And do you want to know why we don’t tell you all this before we go out; why we say we’ll be home at a reasonable hour in a reasonable state when we have no intention of doing either.
Because you say you can handle the truth…but you can’t.
Because you say you want the truth…but you don’t.
So it’s easier just to go out, have a splendid evening with our mates, come home with eyes like smashed ‘Jaffas’, ignore the grief and deal with it the next day.

That’s what a real man does…

23 comments:

Kitty said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
phishez_rule said...

Why don't the guys book a room at a hotel? Then they don't have to explain the night, and they can just bribe the hostie to lie when the missus eventually rings to check what time they got in!

fingers said...

Kitty: Yes, well obviously I wasn't talking about you specifically, Mrs Bean.

Phish: It simply escalates the warfare. What stops the missus out-bribing the hostie to tell her what time her poor bastard of a husband really got in ?? Where does it all end...

rackorf said...

Sort of brings to mind the other question sessions...

"Does my arse look fat in this??"

Now you're fucked whatever way you answer this one. Best bet is simply ignore the question or just flat out refuse to answer on the grounds that you don't need the shit that any other answer than the right one, whatever that may be, would bring.

"Would you like to paint my toenails?"

"Yeah. Fucken right. I dream about painting fucking toenails. Fuck off." (No root tonight you insensitive cunt)


Or, just as you're about asleep...

"Lets talk"

"snort mmph"

"Why were you looking at that bimbo today? The one with the blonde hair and short skirt"

Best bet here is to feign sleep, hope that she shuts the fuck up and forgets about it in the morning.

Sometimes it might even work.

scribble said...

You would be dealing with the grief for the six months at my house, not just the next day!

Spiky Zora Jones said...

Finger...I fucking have nights like that with work asscociates, so it's not just a "man's" THINGY. Hey I even call my girl to meet me at the Lap-Dance Palace...so she can grind on me and maybe we can each have a lap dance too. Ha! Hey and after we are like all hot, me and my girl can even get some sex together out in the car...good times fingers...good times.

Kitty...baby, yeah encourage him baby. Sweetie...no beans and no toast for you. You just call me...I'll be there to do several grindhouse lap dances...NO CHARGE. For you too babes if you want...You have my email. I won't disappoint.

Finger...sorry babes, I had to get my girl's back here. She knows how to take care of a man. Ciao.

Ciao baby. Oh...i'll wear my black nighty, black stockings...or not.

Kelly said...

be honest, so that we can go out and do it up worse than you! We work on spite sometimes too... or would the thought of us doing all that make you jealous...?

Or better yet... take her with and buy her a lap dance!

OneHungMan said...

Finally, someone who understands men.

fingers said...

Rack: How come you never hear them say stuff like 'Would you like to see a video of me eating my best friend out ??'

*Of course Kitty and Spiky are the exceptions to that rule*

Scribble: If I was your husband I probably wouldn't come home for 6 months then.

Spiky: The point IS...we want to see other smoos for a change. I love the book 'Catch 22' but I wouldn't want to read it every night. Sometimes I like to go to the library and check out a different book for a day.

Kelly: Yes, we secretly fear that you plonkers will be out having a much better time than us. That must be it. Cabbage.

OH: There's room on my manly coat-tails for everyone...

Kitty said...
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Betty Boob Hug said...

oh could you have described me any nicer? would it have killed you to put, "Lovely, astute Betty...with the enormous DD's" ?!!

I'm not angry, I'm nice. :)

p.s what was the post about? I only got to the first sentence...

it's the little things... said...

Oh a REAL man! Do you barbeque a boar on the back patio before you head to the strip club?

That's what I want to know.

And where do you bury your dead cow bodies?

fingers said...

Kitty: Shouldn't you be checking the hidden webcam in the closet right about now ??

BBH: Well 'Ugly Betty' was taken already. And besides, that would have been nasty and innacurate.

LT: The cows are with the exes down in the basement...

Betty Boob Hug said...

lucky you put the 'inaccurate' statement in there fingers because you so would of had my therapy bill, as I went off wailing and crying and cancelling my blog completely, hahahahah.

surfercam said...

I run by this rule :
"It's easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission."

fingers said...

BBH: You should join the TWG Health Plan; we get group therapy discounts since most of my female readers are in it.

SC: That's why divorces cost more than marriages; because they're worth it...

dog3oy said...

I agree with surfercam, if my lovely is trying to call me at midnight when I was expected to be home at 10 and is shitty when I rock up past dawn. Looking her in the eyes and saying "I'm really sorry but I had a great time" with a sheepish grin and no obvious external blemishes usually works for me. Other wise I save it all up for when I travel, I've had some shocking nights in Hong Kong. At the end of the day, they will never truly understand.

fingers said...

dog3oy: I think we need to send you back to 'Man School'. If you're walking in at 6am and you were supposed to be home at 10pm, the correct line is 'Where the fuck is my breakfast ??'...

dog3oy said...

mmm usally offer breakfast to the best looking lap dancers....:)

fingers said...

dog3oy: Mate, if you can get your missus to cook a lap-dancer breakfast, you can be an Instructor at 'Man School'...

Kitty said...
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Jin said...

I was like your description fingers, arms crossed, where the fuck have you been..............then I thought what's the fucking point? For several years, Hubs has had my blessing & encouragement even, to go out with 'the boys', get ratarse drunk & crawl home when he's had enough. He's happier & I'm happier. My only stipulation is he doesn't drink & drive.

I'm a good wife (ner ner ner)!

Les Miserable said...

Your best bet is to tell the absolute truth - how you got shit-faced, ate the curry, were chucked out, threw up in the gutter, got a lappie, threw up on her, went back to your mate's for lines, threw up on his cat and the Cops picked you up as you were staggering back along Darlo Road heading for Cunt Point (minus your tie, jacket, belt, shoes, socks and wallet). The more outrageous the tale - the less you'll be believed and she'll say "Tell me the truth - what really happened?"...and you say "I had a cunt of a time".