a wife a day keeps death at bay
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
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
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.