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Saturday, November 27, 2004

a wife a day keeps death at bay

clearly mr nice guy would be dead by now if he weren't married.

mrs nice guy is still in vermont with her mother. i flew back bright and early friday morning, not in the least hung over or exhausted or reluctantly, to head straight to the office. long day at work. home to feed the cats, change their oil, etc. exhausted. so, of course, after making dinner i went to bed for a nice long night's sleep. ha. if only.

nothing goes better with feeding your cats than a nice ice cold stella. with the beer finished, mr nice guy decided to have some cheese (which called for a little vino, natch). wine and cheese sloshing in mr nice guy's contented belly, it was time to download porn check email. as usual, the email worked up a powerful thirst, so it was time for some more wine, maybe a little chocolate to boot. then it was off to the local coffee shop to read a little julian barnes and do a litttle people-watching. and since the cafe happens to have a full bar, a little wine was in order. (dear park slope parents: it may be a groovy little place for your teens to chill, but
Tea Lounge on a friday night is frequented by an INCREDIBLY CREEPY middle aged man apparently named Joe who seems to know all your 15-year-old daughters by name, likes to give them cigarettes and talks with them about their boyfriends. christ i am NOT ready to have a daughter.) and since the joe-show was simultaneously deeply compelling and thoroughly HORRIFYING, another glass of therapeutic wine was in order.

and then to home. but first, a stop at al di la's wine bar for a tasty mindnight pile of pasta. and wine. (sadly, al di la is not related to al di meola) then home. and ice cream. and a little netflix. by about 2:30 mr nice guy, who had to be at work by 9:30, decided it might be a good idea to think about bed. actually, it was his legs that decided this for him because they seemed not to be functioning. but first, a moment or two for downloading more porn music.

and so on. look. mr nice guy didn't do anything bad. he didn't even talk to anyone of either sex, much less bat eyes at the tasty neighborhood niblets who doubtlessly would have relished the thrill of enticing him to transgress the seventh commandment, sultry jezebels of discerning taste everywhere knowing full well how life-changing a ride on the nice guy love shuttle can be. no. i was a good boy. (my liver might wish to interject at this point, and it probably would if i hadn't poisoned it. and, you know, it could talk.)

here's the thing ... this is mr nice guy's modus operandi every time mrs nice guy is out of town or consorting with her foxy ladyfriends for an evening. when she's not around i am apparently compelled to punish my innocent innards. if mr nice guy were still single at this point of his life, he wouldn't be single. he'd be dead.


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