It was a really bad day for my marriage when our three year old stopped taking naps, since the hub and I always enjoyed our own afternoon playdate (sly boots wink) while he slept. Or at least we had the OPTION to enjoy it. Now our only options are early, early and I repeat, early in the morning, which has never been my best sexy kitten time. Or late. And by late, I mean past 8 pm after which the hub staying awake becomes dicey, but which is when the little guy goes to bed perchance to sleep, perchance NOT. He is still awake in his bed as I write this at 10 pm, while my husband is peacefully snoring in our bed, see earlier post ‘fluffy review’ for the medical explanation for snoring. And if monkey is still awake by the time hub & I miraculously do manage to both be awake and in our room at the same time, I’m terrified he’s going to tiptoe in and startle us by asking ‘What doin’ mama??’ complete with hand gestures and quizzical look on his face. This also does not lend itself to sexy kitten behaviour.
So I had to enroll the kid in a class during the week just to get some alone time. We have about a one hour window, so I figure we can clean the house with the other 55 minutes. This morning hub unit dropped kid off with the understanding that he would return to our house forthwith where I would be waiting for him. Waiting. For. Him. Meow.
I miscalcuated. Now, I’ve never been one to worry about other women. Sure that 19 year old may LOOK hot, but eventually she will have to speak, which, thankfully, would result in my man losing immediate interest. When I start to notice him spending time with a young, attractive mute I may need to pay attention.
Nope, the mistake I made was to not scout the businesses surrounding said school. My bad. While the candles burned down to puddles and the Showtime after dark special languished on hold, I sat alone drumming my fingers. Should I just go ahead and clean the house? Nah. I’M GONNA CALL HIM. So I did. And ya know what? Turns out there’s a little place called SANTA CLARITA CHOPPERS right across the street from the school. Perhaps there should be a law about that, requiring all motorcycle shops to be registered with the WOA (wives of america) and housed at least a mile from any type of family establishment where husbands might be distracted by something shiny. Put them in an orange light district to at least give us a little warning.
Seems the other woman is a 2002 Harley Davidson Softail, with 10,000 miles. Yeah, she’s used. Yeah, she needs some work. Yeah, he’s gonna spend money on her. And he’s taking me to meet her tomorrow morning.