But the Mrs. did. She's the dancer, not me. I'll do the chicken dance (aptly named, eh?) once a year, during Oktoberfest. But that's about it. Instead, I stayed downstairs and watched a movie. A football movie. Rudy. So who's the wild man now?
For years, the Mrs. has tried in vain to get me to take ballroom dancing lessons. Yesterday, I gave her a little hope. I told her if she could persuade Troutdale Parks and Recreation to create a ballroom dancing class, I'd consider taking a class with her. I still can't believe I said that, backing down from long term non-negotiation. The ball is in her court now.
Don't get the wrong picture of me. I'm not a total neanderthal. I did the dishes tonight. I even made brownies and some eggnog coffee. I've made breakfast the last few mornings. Yesterday, I even went to lunch with the Mrs. and one of her girlfriends, and had coffee talk. You would have thought I was one of the girls (except fully half the time I had no idea where they were coming from.) I always endeavor to be a good husband, although I've definitely had my ups and downs.
As a matter of fact, I was the perfect gentleman when we all came back to our house yesterday afternoon. Being the perfect gentleman, I I took leave for a couple of hours while the Mrs. and her friend had the house to themselves for some un-guy obstructed coffee talk while I took our dog George to Thousand Acres(aka the Sandy River Delta) for a good romp.
I was the perfect gentleman when the dog and I got back from our romp, being careful to be unobtrusive. I took the dog upstairs with me to the master bedroom to change. And then the dog decided to projectile vomit all over the place. The gentleman left, and some madman began swearing like a drunken sailor as he tried to get the dog downstairs before he let go with another round. Too late. More drunken sailor.
The dog was fine (he drank too much water too fast when we came home).The gentleman returned. He silently cleaned up the dog mess, with help from the ever-handy shop-vac's water pickup feature, and some of that space age polymer stuff that magically removes any stain, any odor from carpet.
The Mrs. and her friend said nothing of the strange visit from the drunken sailor. Talk about receiving grace! The Mrs. even complimented me, saying it had been years since she heard such an outburst! ('tis true! It had been years. But it's funny what you end up saying when a dog does what ours did just a few inches from your face. . .)
No, I didn't watch Dancing With the Stars tonight. In light of what the Mrs. has to put up with, however, I'm thinking she probably deserves some ballroom dancing in her future. At least ballroom dancing isn't that disgusting to clean up after. . .