It Was Her Idea

word count: 961

    It wasn’t my idea.  I wanted to go to the motorcycle show. 

    It was a Saturday in April sometime, right before wedding season kicks in.  Lori, my lovely, beautiful wife said we had been invited to a couples wedding shower.  Now I like to think of myself as a pretty liberal guy.  I like trying new stuff, but in all honesty the only person I want to shower with is my wife.  I take the whole marriage, vows, not lying with another woman thing pretty seriously.  I mean there are plenty of things I am going to burn in hell for; I don’t really have much desire to add adultery to the list.  Anyway, she looked at me with a mixture of incredulity, pity, it may have been self pity, I’m not really sure, and surprise.

    “Honey, it’s a figure of speech.  We aren’t going to actually bathe, together or alone.  It’s a pre-wedding party for Patty.  I would, however, like to mention that a shower and shave would be a prerequisite to attending the party.” 

    “Oh.” I have a lot of monosyllabic words in my vocabulary.  “Well, I was kind of hoping we could go to the Motorcycle show at the Convention Center.  Wait… Patty at your office?  The one that’s always so, well, she doesn’t like it when I say bitchy, and I try to be good, I swear, um, unpleasant?”

    Oops

    Lori was sorta glaring at me, “She is not unpleasant.  If you could manage to have an adult conversation with her and not insist on telling her French jokes you would find her a very nice lady.”

    “Isn’t she getting married to that dweeb?  What’s his name … Pierre?”

  “Yes, and he is not a dweeb.”  She now sounded a bit exasperated, “John, I was really hoping you would come with me and perhaps act like the adult I know you can be.  Everyone at work is really starting to wonder if you are the same man I talk about being married to.”

    “But honey,” I’d like to point out I was not whining here, “we can’t go tomorrow because there is that whole church deal thing, you know, talking to the engaged couples thing.  Why are we doing that anyway?  Martha said you’re there as an example of a tolerant long suffering wife and I am an example of how a husband should not act?  What does she mean by that anyway?  Should I be insulted?  I am not really sure but I think maybe Martha doesn’t much care for me.”

    “Fine, you go to the stupid motorcycle show and I’ll go, alone, to the shower.  But, no beer, you understand?  And most definitely you are under no circumstances to even entertain the thought of buying a bike.  You know how you are.  Your body does not heal the way it used to.  Do not even imagine it.  Am I making myself clear on this point?  Are you following me here?  Please repeat that last part back to me.”

    “The no beer part? or the not healing part?” 

    Oops.

    That was kind of the wrong thing to say.  Well, it was the wrong thing to say, I thought it was a legitimate clarification.

    “That’s it, you are coming with me --and you will behave yourself.  No French jokes, two beers only and you will limit your conversation to current events, and that does not include current events in the physics world, got it?”

    That sounded pretty definite.  I know when to not say anything.  This was one of those times.  “No physics?”  I didn't even know my lips were moving.

Both eyebrows shot up and her jaw clenched.  I guess not.

-------------------------------

    Pierre and Rick helped Lori pour me into the car, “Thank you guys, again I would like to apologize for his behavior.  This may be his last public appearance.”

    That last part sounded a little harsh.  I think she may have been upset with me.

    As we pulled away from the curb she hissed at me, “Did I or did I not say two beers only?  Is there any ambiguity in the statement, ‘No more than two beers’?  Is there some part of that that is difficult to understand?”

    “Um, I didn’t have any beer honey, it was scotch that I was drinking, and it was good scotch too.” 

    Oops.

    I think that may have been the wrong thing to say.

    “You ... are lucky I drive with both hands on the wheel.”  Man she could make her voice icy.  We drove on in silence; I figured that was in my best interests.

    “Great,” she mumbled, “a drunk driver checkpoint.  Don’t say a word, John.”

    “Good evening, Officer,” she said politely.

    “Evening Ma'am, have you been drinking tonight?” the young officer asked.

    “I had a glass of wine at a party.”

    The policeman peered in the window, his flashlight shining in my face.  “It’s not her fault, Officer, I swear, a drunken Lemur did it.  It grabbed the wheel from her and made us weave down the street.”

    The policeman looked at me, then at Lori.  He nodded to his partner, “Step out of the vehicle please, Sir.”

    “It wasn’t me I swear, it was the Lemur!”

    “Yes, I know Sir.  A vicious looking Lemur it Is too.  This is for your own protection, Sir.”

    Huh?  They were talking to me.  “I didn't have a single beer, it was the scotch loophole, Officer, I am fine, really.”  I was helped from the car by the other Policeman.

    The polite young officer looked at my wife and said, “You can pick him up in the morning from the drunk tank Ma'am ... if you want to.”

    “Thank you, Officer,” she said.

    I watched the taillights recede into the darkness.

word count: 961

The names have been changed to protect the innocent, or guilty, or something.