Thursday, December 29, 2011
You Be the Judge
Men, beware. There are many responses to saying or doing the wrong thing, from a slow “okaaayy” to a succinct “fine” to complete silence. You can find yourself up shit’s creek, up shit’s creek without a paddle, or simply in the dog house. Then there’s the royal dog house. It sits apart from the others, and no matter how hard you try, you won’t be moving closer until enough time and groveling has passed, and all groveling will be met with a slow okaaayy, fine, or icy silence.
These listed responses are your judging parameters. I’m going to tell you a story, and you tell me where Stud, my DH of almost 20 years, gets pinned on the list.
First, some background. My holiday season began by hosting 13 for Thanksgiving. Not a huge deal as it’s usually around 22, but this year was special. I managed to shatter the control panel on my oven the Sat. before Thanksgiving, and Sears totally screwed me over. We taped it up, cleaned the house, and had us a Redneck Thanksgiving. The following Fri night, we cleaned the house again, decorated it inside and out, and hosted the entire school orchestra’s holiday party, oven control panel still not fixed. Woke up the next morning to a sick Guinea Pig. Turns out it needed surgery. Yes, surgery. That happened on Tues, leaving us hand feeding him and giving meds. All of this leads up to the following Sat, when we cleaned the house again and hosted a family party for 70. Yes, 7-0, oven control panel still not fixed. I made 10 lasagna’s, 10 mac & chs, and 2 hams. That party was the pinnacle, and then I was supposed to be done. (Oh, and we woke up the next morning and found groundwater seeping up through the carpet in the finished basement. We’re still working on that one.)
Are you tired yet? I sure was. But we got through it all to Stud’s fateful night in question. It was one of those calm, felt like after a huge Nor’Easter before the next storm hits holiday moments when we got to sit on the couch and watch a show or two together. I was also trying to figure out what we’d have for Xmas Eve dinner. I was a little excited because it would be the normal 5 and The Sherry and one adult son, so I could get a bit fancy since I wasn’t cooking for a gazillion. I had also received a major coupon from a Chinese restaurant, so I was toying with simply combining Xmas and Hanukkah and ordering Chinese food and watching a Xmas movie. Hey, I’m no dummy. Just needed to see if it would be cost effective.
“How about cornish game hens?” I asked Stud. “I can get 7 of them for less than Chinese for all.”
“Sounds great, but you’d have to cut them in half.”
“What? No, that would make it chicken on a plate. The while uniqueness of it is having a your own stuffed mini chicken.”
“Yeah, but if you’re only getting 7 of them, what’s everyone else going to eat?”
“Everyone else?” But the second it was out of my mouth, that strange conversation I’d had with my MIL a few nights before suddenly made horrific sense. The look of pure terror on Stud’s face clinched it.
“OH. MY. GOD! Did you invite your family to Xmas Eve dinner?”
Yes. Yes, he had. We had 13 for Xmas Eve dinner. It was an innocent misunderstanding on Stud’s part. Epic, but innocent. I also have to admit that he worked his ass off, too, and he’s a wonderful man I normally thank God for every single day. That said, every party except the orchestra thing was for his family’s side, and we were already going to the MIL’s for brunch on Xmas Day.
So cast your vote. What would your reaction be?