Ya know- when you’ve been married for decades and centuries shit shifts.
Blaring, glaringly, mega-watt spotlight on this weekend for example. What looked like, on the cover, a fun filled couple of days partying rapidly deteriorated into something not so much.
Saturday was my brother’s long awaited divorce party. We were girded and ready. What’s four or five hours of driving to drink in the sweet, sweet, nectar of freedom, right?
Even if that freedom roams freely about until three or four in the morning and Miss Carol and me have to get up at five sos’ I can drive MR.GREENE. back home again. Hey, whatever.
We have brunchy brunch with our friends who’re housesitting and dogsitting the boys and the Bloody Mary’s spill over into the beers kinda flowing with the eggs and sausages and before you know it, it’s starting all over again.
We saddle up AGAIN and drive to P-town where I’m thinkin’ we’ll be honeymooning in a hotel room overlooking the Elizabeth River swapping spit and body fluids all afternoon.
Miss Carol decides it’s nappy nap time. ALL afternoon. Into the night. To the point where I give up on the honeymooning and spit sharing, and take a lonely shower and wake the somnambulant Miss Carol so’s we can catch the water taxi to Norfolk and the Mr. Anthony Bourdain Show.
Miss Carol wakes up cranky. Honestly? It’s the reason I DON’T take naps- I always wake up cranky and hating everything and everybody. I’ll sleep when I’m dead thankyouverymuch.
And the much more then?
I’m no where NEAR Mr. Perfect. In fact, I’m Mr. Asshole lots of times. ‘Nuff said, right? So we endured the evening gritting it out like only peeps married for a VERY long time can and do. And then we endured the rest of the night. And then we endured sharing a hotel room. And then we endured an early morning ride back home.
And now we’re enduring tonight.
Is marriage and its’ decades and centuries spent together fun, or WHAT?