Forty Winks

To take forty winks is to take a nap for a short period of time (usually not in bed)

     --Wikipedia

Before jumping to Rip Van Wrinkle's goodnight snore, the morning kicked off proper with a crappy breakfast.

Peter has always loved my toilet paper cartoons. Months ago, he launched his own unusual artistic expression by cartooning the empty rolls. Today, he unveiled the top forty from his private collection.

As Peter was gathering his art, he somehow thought that Mama would also really dig it if he were to convert the guest bathroom into a bookstore.

Unfortunately, Mama was still pre-coffee, so the overwhelming praise of gratitude that Peter was expecting would have to wait. I tried jump-starting my old lady's mood by cooking her breakfast in bed, only I didn't let her eat it in bed. Get to the table, woman!

As Tommy ripped opened Mama's new iPhone, Peter was busy trying to break another arm.

For those of you without memory loss, you might remember Angie's birthday last year and wonder why she would be getting yet another iPhone. Man, there's no gettin' nuttin by you guys.

The reason is simple. A few months ago, Angie could not find her phone. This happens three times a week, so normally not a big deal. It became an issue when she realized it was stolen. See, simple.

Shortly after the first round of birthday gifts, my freak-out radar starting pinging. I didn't immediately understand why, so I drank another coffee asked my brain to evaluate the situation.

1. It was Angie's birthday.
2. In a few hours, we would be entertaining family and friends for coffee and cake.
3. The place looked like shit.

'Uh, Angie, I'm sorry, but I need to run out to do, uh, really important things that I can't tell you about.'

I even winked several times to sell the whole 'I'm totally picking up secret last-minute birthday gifts for you' story. She reluctantly agreed to release me to the wild for a few hours.

'Fine, but you have to be back at two!'

At that point, the boys picked up on what was going on and collectively gave me a pleading look. Save us!!

'Okay. I'm taking the boys. Bye!'

I grabbed the boys and narrowly escaped Mama's wrath as she fired up the vacuum. We then went on to do really important things that I could not tell Angie about. Wink, wink.

I thought about bringing Angie a Happy Meal, but they are really meant for the younger generation and...well, it's her birthday. I'll just keep my smart-ass comments for the next blog.

On the way home, I realized two things. First, Tommy has the common sense to be leery of freaky looking street mimes wearing strange outfits.

Second, David doesn't.

We made it back as the first guests arrived. The afternoon was well spent drinking coffee, eating cake, and visiting with friends and family.

For the evening program, I had arranged a babysitter so that Angie and I could get our 'Eat, Drink, Sleep' on. By 'arranged', I of course mean that I had not planned jack and had frantically begged Ute last night if she could once again save the evening. She could. 

Ute not only saved the night; she also recommended a very nice restaurant conveniently located close to the pub. Along the way we ran into a life-size Guinness that made my liver flutter. If I weren't married...

Angie and I were still on the 'Eat' chapter of the night's novel when I presented Angie with her forty-page birthday book.

'Gee, thanks! You should have called it "Forty things I hate about Angie".'

'Nah, too long. Do you like it?'

She didn't really answer. Instead, she whistled for the waitress and began ordering a shitload of cocktails. I took this as a sign that she was thirsty and wanted to toast my first self-published book. I was only half right. She downed a champagne cocktail and threw on her dusty editor-in-chief hat.

'My hair is too short!'

Luckily, I had a pen with me and ensured that Angie's crew cut magically transformed into hair that at least touched her shoulders. I won't say that she was happy, but after a few more cocktails and a belly full of really expensive food, Angie was at least ready to move on to the 'Drink' chapter of the evening.

The Brass Monkey may have changed owners over the years, but it is still the pub where Angie and I had our first fight. It's also where we still feel at home. Please don't analyze the connection.

After a frenzy of gifts and pints, Angie slipped into her old habits.

It could be worst. In our B.C. days (before children), she would routinely alternate between kicking ass in table soccer and stealing cucumbers from the kitchen. Tonight, she at least refrained from swiping food. The kitchen now has a lock. 

I left early to relieve angelical women with an abundance of patience when dealing with unruly animals. Before I left, Angie and I agreed on two things.

1. That she would not stay more than 30 minutes before moving back to our house for a party to rival John Belushi's nice attempt. Toga! Toga!
2. That she would beg, plead, force and/or otherwise convince half of the bar to join us.

After thanking Ute to the point of being restrainable, I realized two things.

1. Angie is complete crap at following the first line item on a list of mutually agreed orders.
2. She's actually quite skilled at following the second line item.

So, yeah. Two hours later, Angie stumbled in with a bunch of pub-folk ready to get their poker on. Birthday girl then jumped forward to the 'Sleep' chapter of the evening and proudly announced that she was going to bed.

'Have fun, Steve.'

And with that *poof*, Angie was gone. The confused crowd then looked at me. After an awkward pause, I slowly raised my hand in the traditional 'sign of the horns' and set the mood.

'Party on!'

After several high-fives and many rounds of poker, including one where Stepan was able to pull a natural four-of-a-kind with aces out of his sleeve and not get caught, Angie decide to grace us again with her presence.

My first thought was 'What the hell is Angie doing back up?'. My second thought was 'What the hell is Angie doing back up?'.

Angie was wrapped in a blanket and sleep-stumbled past several surprised poker players, including me. She then face-planted the sofa and began snoring. Loudly. After a brief 'WTF' moment, the entire poker crew cracked up. I was worried that our spontaneous outburst of hysteria might wake up zombie chick. It didn't.

Sometimes, I have to stretch my creative imagination to come up with funny material. More often than not, though, Angie gives me way more blog-worthy memories than I know what to do with. Thanks, Butter Buns!

So yeah, let me ask you - birthday chick had just passed out on the sofa. What other option did I have other than to grab one of our bathroom towels and have everyone decorate it so that we could visually honor Sleeping Beauty?

Don't answer that. In the end, I have to say that I was really impressed with everyone's creative flair. Only tomorrow will tell if Angie shares my view, but at least she'll have forty winks to sleep on it.

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Ladder Talk: [Ute amazingly ensured that the animals were asleep - no Ladder Talk tonight]
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
David: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Tom: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
David: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Tom: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
David: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Tom: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz