I Eat More Chicken Any Man Ever Seen

The 14th wedding anniversary was quite the special one for the little lady. To kick off the evenings festivities we had a guy come in to measure our countertops. Which you’d think might take 10-15 minutes at most, and you’d have thought wrong. First off we told the guy at the store that we wouldn’t be home until 4:30. When the appointment was confirmed the day before, we told the guy we wouldn’t be home until 4:30. Then the day of the measuring he calls me at 3:30, “I’m at your house!”. Uh, yeah dude, I have a meeting and have to pick up my knee-biter, so I’ll see you at 4:30, like we discussed. Then I get home at 4:30 and this jagoff doesn’t show up until 5:00. MFWTF?

After he gets there, I’m thinking he whips out a measuring tape and bickety-bam it’s done, not so much. He measures and measures and measures and then brings in this laser thing and measures some more. There are questions about backsplashes, overhang and sinks. All of which I am unprepared to answer, because this is the wife’s project. Per the handyman’s guide to procrastination, he goes to his truck five times, and each time Maggie says “Buh-Bye!”, then I explain that he’s coming back and she goes “No coming back!”

Finally, he rolls out and Amy rolls in with some KFC, and not just any old KFC, but absolutely free KFC thanks to their internet promotion. This high society, black tie affair has just been taken to another level. We inhale the dead bird, taters, slaw and biscuits like we were in training to be competitive eaters.

After Maggie went to bed the romantic evening continued down in the man cave. We cuddled up on the couch, stared into each others eyes, and settled in for a quiet evening of playoff hockey! I whispered little sweet nothings in her ear like “The last time I saw a fucking hook like that it was in a fishes mouth!” “C’mon Eaton force him to the corner and bend him over like the little bitch he is!” “Billy G is not my lover, unless he scores the game winner!”

Once the thrilling overtime game was in the books, we headed upstairs to find that Maggie had soaked through her diaper onto her bedding. We sprang into action like Dale Jr.’s pit crew. “You get the bed and I’ll get the kid. Grab me that fitted sheet! Diaper is on, jammies are in progress. Bed is ready! Drop the kid in the crib. Done! Go! Go! Go!”. We are a well oiled machine when it comes to late night bedding changes. I think Amy might have been a maid a La Quinta in her previous life. Of course it took us 8 years to get pregnant, so then again maybe not.

Well that about does it for the big 14th anniversary. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go practice my hospital corners and try to get the maid to fluff up my pillow. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.