It’s been a brutal day- a crappy morning trying to escape the dangers of hanging around the house for 5 minutes longer than anticipated. In those five minutes, not only could one of my children’s lives fall apart because they are wearing the wrong pants to school, but my wife might discover the awful perpetration in which I had the audacity to engage in……. leaving my used towel on the side of the bed- ohhhh no! Armafuckinggeddon!!! Ok, I know she works extremely hard to keep things orderly, but at this stage in the day, in my opinion, its only a damned towel that I used to dry my ‘clean’ body, not a rag that I just used to pick up the dog’s diarrhea. In her mind it might have been the icing on the cake after debating with a genius yet ferocious nine year old child to a point of almost having to hire a lawyer to win the argument. Over what you ask? Answer: Why the world won’t end by having to deal with a school lunch today instead home-packed lunch. Ahhh yes, the ecstasies of family mornings.

In any case the day must move forward and after retreating to the bedroom to hang up the very same towel that now has me classified in the same pool as evil demons, I finally get to leave for work- another wonderful haven that rewards me with crushing depression day after day. I will spare you readers the gentle euphemisms I might offer regarding my awesome day at work,  just know that I’m glad the day has shown the end is drawing near. I’m thinking a little dinner, play with the kids and then just chill out.

Of course the plan receives altercations once I’m home. My wife is battling the 13 year old over homework; in fact he’s stated that he’s ready to move out and make it on his own with the whole twelve dollars he has “hidden” away. My 7 year old is standing on the kitchen stool with his “ding-a-ling” in hand, pretending its a joystick and he’s about to get the high score in Galaga. How my wife keeps her sanity with these chimps is beyond me. Anyhow, the girls are calm and that’s half the battle. I grab a scoop of peanut butter instead of the planned 5 minute sit-down and put the “ladies” to bed. At this stage I’m under the assumption that my duties for the day are done, so I find the sanctuary of an empty living room, grab the remote and sit down. My ass barely hits the cushion and I hear my wife call my name like a North Korean Lieutenant yelling at a captive prisoner for stretching his legs in a cage. She’s asking me to come wherever she might be in the home at that moment. WTF? How is it that every single time, at any time, any place, when my ass requires more than ever to sit and relax, as though throughout the Galaxy, throughout the Universe, the echoes of eternity come down in the form of my wife’s voice? She hasn’t even seen me in the last 5-10 minutes!! She has no idea I just sat down does she? Is it women’s intuition? Or does my ass set off an alarm in my wife’s head every time it hits fabric?