true confessions: valentine's edition

my darling bride was out of down for a bit this past week. she had some business in houston or ontario or hong kong or something. i don't know. all i know is that she was gone, off earning daddy a new pair of shoes.

so i took the opportunity to hire a baby-sitter and go out a-drinkin'.

i should probably mention that i hit the town with a gift card (at a cheesy local bar that recently banned strollers, sparking a predictably boneheaded debate). i probably wouldn't have gone there if i hadn't had the gift card. ok. technically speaking i guess you could say that it was "my wife's" gift card and that i had "stolen it out of her wallet." i should also mention that it was "valentine's day." but the fact remains, i had me a night on the town. and it was courtesy of her. now if that's not the true meaning of love, i don't know what is.

i went out and drank delicious lagavulin single malt. for those uninitiated in the world of scotch, let me break it down for you: lagavulin tastes liquid smoke, filtered through a mound of peat (which i believe is composed of partially-decayed vegetation). doesn't that sound delicious? i first developed a taste for scotch in general -- and lagavulin in particular -- when i had a boss who poured out two fingers of the stuff every friday at 5:30. he was my favorite boss ever. one time, when i was in the office whistling, he said to me "there are only two reasons for you to be whistling: 1) you're happy. 2) you're stupid. well, if you're working for me, you'd better be neither."

i invited my friend, a honcho at p.i.n.k. vodka, which is not what i drank. neither did he. i used the gift card that i stole from my wife to buy him baker's bourbon. when the gift card ran out -- which was very fast -- we went to another, cheaper bar and drank buds. i went home and paid the sitter, feeling not a little like a scumbag for stumbling home at 1 am (at least i was alone!) and scrawling her a check because i had no more cash because i had spent it all on drink because my pregnant wife was out of town for business on valentine's day.

i settled in for a late-night meal of microwaved leftovers (mmm, sage chicken and apples). then the doorbell rang! i was stunned! who could be ringing me at almost-2 am on february 15!? i opened the door to a gaggle of clearly-wasted 20-somethings. their leader -- the most sober looking of the bunch -- stepped up to me. she said: "hey! we're here for jeff's party! are you jeff?"

hmmm. i slurred, "no ithinkyou have thewrongadd ress. no party hhhhhere." she seemed prepared to accept this information at face value. but then! one of the dudes in her posse -- squinty eyes blazing red -- came forward and asked me "are you sure there's no party back there, dude?" oh, man. i wanted to kick him in his tiny hipster 'nads. i took a deep breath and summoned as much indignation and self-righteous rage as i could before saying, dripping with sanctimony: "look. i have a sleeping 2-year-old in here. there is no party. sorry to disappoint." -- you know, kinda as if i hadn't been out drinking for the four previous hours myself.

the girl was horrified, totally embarrassed. she was all "omigod, i'm so sorry." i mean, she probably thought they woke me up. or at least disturbed a humble family man from his nocturnal contemplation. and so they all slinked off, chastened. as i watched their hunched shoulders sulk away from my house, part of me wished i had pretended to be jeff and invited them in for a little impromptu soiree. still, i was enjoying my moment, taking great pleasure in how bad they felt.

i know i should feel a little ashamed ... or at least a wee bit like a hypocrite. but screw that! it was probably my favorite valentine's day of all time.