Many nights after I have slipped into slumber, Frank will have his very own one-man Bacchanalian Bash. I somehow sleep through his private parties, often held in the same room where I sleep, and then have to go all Sherlock Holmes the next morning to try and deduce exactly what went down. This AM, I awoke to find the bedside table laden with the following:
1) A dozen pink and red foil Hershey wrappers from the Valentine's mini chocolate bars he bought for me and vowed not to eat.
2) A jar of Pear Honey that we bought from a roadside stand two summers ago.
3) A stack of BMX videos from the late 80's--we don't even have a VCR.
4) A shot glass with the sticky remnants of what could only be Jaggermeister.
5) A plate with dried mustard and mayo alongside bacon grease.
6) A wooden pipe--I suppose now that we've gone country, he is smoking his tobacky the rustic way...wink.
7) Three rolls of toilet paper.
8) One of those wooden games you get at the Cracker Barrel that determines whether you're a genius or an "Ignaramoose."
and something I could not even begin to explain...
Me (pointing): What is that white liquid?
Frank: Milk. Just milk.
Me: But why is there milk in my favorite flower vase?
Frank: Sorry. I just thought it was a really big glass.
Me: And you need that game to tell you that you're ignorant.
When the wife's away asleep, the husband will creep...but I just thank my lucky stars that, instead of to strip clubs or casinos, Frank only sneaks off to the refrigerator.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.