Yeah…We Got A Dog

The day started like any other day. We woke up late and a tad hung-over from the previous night’s party with friends.

We ate breakfast and broke-up 13.6 fights between the kids.

I wrote a love note to the wife.

Then we decided to go to my wife’s second home, Ikea, to look at lofts for the boy’s room since he needs desk space.

After a couple hours of crying and listening to the boy say, “Oh, I want that bed, and that desk, and can I get a chair that wheels around, and I could put my trophies on my desk and move them when it’s time to do homework, and please daddy, please mommy?!”

But unfortunately we left without the purchase.

Then I made the mistake of a lifetime. Feeling bad that we got the kid all hyped-up and let him down, I whipped into the pet store right next to Ikea so we could let him pet hamsters and look at fish.

Twenty minutes later I find myself in a small “petting room” waiting for a dude that works there to bring us a puppy to play with.

Twenty more minutes later my wife, son, and daughter are literally clasping their hands together as if in group prayer and begging me to let them take the doggie home forever.

I gave it a good fight, I really did. But I lost and I lost hard.

When we first moved to Chicago three years ago we got a damn cat. Jasper.

Almost two years ago we got each of the kids a fish. Then one died. So we got another.

Then a few months ago the boy “had to have” a hamster. When I wasn’t looking the wife bought the little bastard a hamster.

Now...a Cavalier King Charles dog named Marty.

But, I’m going to look at the positive side of this. I’m going to focus on the many things young Marty and I have in common.

• If he’s not bathed regularly he stinks and leaves his musky scent all over the furniture. I do too…
• Currently the cat’s scared out of his mind, so one could say he scares pussy away. I do too…
• He was bred and we have his thorough pedigree chart. I guess in a way I was too…
• This furry bastard loves to have his belly rubbed nonstop. The dog does too…
• I’m going out on a limb and saying I’m pretty sure the dog doesn’t like to wear pants. We all know my feelings on those devil leg covers.
• And, I’m not going to lie, if you throw a ball near me I’m definitely going to go for it and bring it right back to you.

Now, if only I could figure out how to make my ass wag like a dog’s tail and have my wife whistle at me and talk to me like I’m 8 months old.



Can We Pleeeeease Have Sex?

My son’s obsession with the Wii has helped me realize I ask the wifey for sex WAY too much.

Every day I hear the car door slam quickly followed by the pitter patter of feet running and the high-pitched tones of children giggling and laughing. One of them usually slams themselves against the front door in the heat of victory over being the first to the house. A key rattles in the keyhole as the wifey yells “JUST A MINUTE GUYS!!! BACK-UP!!”

The front door opens unleashing a flurry of flying book-bags, coats, shoes, and a flustered wifey. The girl tears-ass upstairs to immediately change into her jammies. The boy? Like a bloodhound he drops to all fours with his wet slobbery nose just inches from the floor and begins sniffing for any scent that ultimately leads him to me.

Within seconds he’s spazzing-out on my lap saying, “daddy can we play Wii? Please? You said yesterday we could play Wii and we didn’t even get to play that long so I wanna play longer this time and will you play with me please daddy? Wii daddy? Daddy! Wii!”

Every day this happens. And I love spending time with the kid and playing Wii, but the incessant and persistent asking to play Wii drives me up the wall. First thing in the morning. First thing when he gets home. Before dinner. After dinner. In the grocery store. Picking him up from school. Wii Wii Wii fucking Wii!!!!!

Then, like a fresh splash of clean oil on a broken down 1950s engine, my brain starts to work and it hits me! “Holy shit! This must be how the wifey feels about me asking for sex constantly!!! Oh my baby jesus…I have got to STOP doing this to her or I’ll never have sex again!”

The more I think about it the more I start to shudder at the thought of how completely annoying and unattractive my “game” has been over the past….oh shit…over the past decade. In a panic I grabbed a sheet of paper, a pen, and dropped some Mr. Wizard knowledge into a chart to compare my son’s Wii obsession with must-mount-wifey-now obsession. Here’s a few examples of what my brain managed to contemplate.  

#1

The boy NEVER wants to play Wii alone. He’s emphatic that I join him every time and gets upset if I beg him to just play by himself for a bit.

I get upset and throw a temper-tantrum when the wifey’s answer to my sex request is, “why don’t you just go upstairs and take care of yourself?”

#2

When I play Wii with the boy, he has to sit right next to me with arms touching. So while I’m maneuvering Mario through his maze of snapping turtles and angry walking mushrooms, I get poked and prodded by the fidgety mini-me who’s wedged his body next to mine.

The wifey will be laying on the couch comfortably and peacefully and I’ll slowly climb my cumbersome 6’3” frame in between her and the back cushions causing the blanket to get all fucked-up, pushing her forward so she has to put an arm down to keep herself from falling off and I grab her ass while saying, “hey there little lady. Wanna fool around?”

#3

After playing Wii for a while with the boy I’ll make the announcement, “OK bud, five more minutes and then we’re done.” That’s always followed by a whiney, high-pitched, “awwwweee…come-on daddy! We just started playing. I don’t wanna stop in five minutes. Pleeeease?!”

The wifey and I will be in the middle of one of the most amazing sex sessions of humankind with birds chirping louder, rays of sun beaming brighter, and all is right in the universe when she’ll say, “we should go ahead and wrap this up.”

And I’m all, “Awwwweeee…come on honey!! But we just started! I don’t wanna stop, pleeeeease…just a little longer?”

After completing this exhaustive list I felt ashamed. I felt how a fly must feel after finishing therapy for obsessively flying around a cow’s ass for many years—empty and full of motivation to just apologize endlessly. And, I knew that’s just what I had to do.

So, I walked over to the wifey who had just stood up to go upstairs to bed and I threw my arms around her and hugged her passionately. And before I could utter the first sympathetic apology she said, “Fine! Let’s go upstairs and do it.”

('’)