11:30 PM, Thursday Night
brrring. brrring. Brring. BRRING!
"Goddamn fucking phone. I hate you. I hate you so hard...What."
"Hey, Babe!"
"Why are you so happy?"
"I just bowled a 220. What are you doin'?"
"Cleaning up dog piss. Fatty had a seizure and peed all over me."
"Cool, cool. Can I come over and pee?"
"Pee?"
"Yeah."
I blinked at the distinctly yellow puddle in the middle of my sofa. "...sure. 'Cause that's how I envisioned my Thursday night going. Full o' pee. No class tomorrow? That's okay, you get pee!"
"Okay! I'll be there in two minutes."
"Whatever."
Click.
2 Minutes Later
"Babe!" Boyfriend burst into my living room with all the flourish of a fat dragqueen with oranges shoved down his bra and his dick taped back. "I ruv you!" Then danced into my bathroom and disappeared.
I murmured incoherently while finishing the clean up of the seizured dog urine/mouthfoam combo all over my sofa.
Boyfriend launched himself back into the living room, bounded over to the sofa and plopped down as I rolled the remains of Fatty's mess into a ball and stared at the new peeing menus on my sofa.
I sniffed. Sniffed harder. Stared at the big dumb grin on Boyfriend's face. "Are you drunk?"
"No!" He grinned harder.
"You are. You're drunk." I threw the soiled towels in a pile in the corner and howled, "Why the hell do you get to get drunk when I'm home cleaning dog pee!"
"Aw." Boyfriend stumbled toward me, grabbed my face and kissed my nose...atleast tried kissing my nose instead I got an eyeful of saliva. " 'Ou had to work." Baby talk. I fucking hate baby talk. That alone should have clued me into how trashed he was.
" 'Ou had to work 'ard and I didn't." He smiled and flopped back on the sofa like a dying carp.
I put the back of my hand to my forehead in resignment. No drinks for me. And after the urine/mouthfoam incident still evident on my jeans, I fucking needed a drink.
A distinct smacking noise snapped my attention back to the drunk sitting on my couch. Boyfriend cocked an eyebrow at me and smacked his lips again.
"What?"
"Do you have any of that lippy chappy stuff?"
"Lippy chappy...chap stick?"
He nodded excitedly. I found myself nearly rubbing behind his ears at the excitement. Chap stick, boy! Is it chap stick? Jimmy needs chap stick in the well? Good boy! Good drunk cop on my fucking pee soaked sofa!
"I don't have any." I did. But I thought it be vastly more entertaining to see what he'd do next.
He pouted. "What about that..." He ran his finger over his lips in mock lipstick application.
"You want lipstick?"
"Nah! That's gay. I want that glossy stuff that tastes so good."
"Lip gloss? You want lip gloss instead of chapstick so you don't feel gay?"
"Yup."
"Okay." I fetched the pinkest lip gloss I owned, completely ignoring the stash of chapstick next to it. "Here ya go."
I watched him apply it with a careful concentration I didn't think possible, and then smack his lips together before turning a plumply glossy drunk grin on me.
"How much did you have to drink?"
"Three."
"Three what?"
"Three beers."
"Bullshit." I studied him again. "Three pitchers more likely."
He laughed, "You're so smart!"
"You drank three pitchers of beer?"
"Each."
"Each? Who was with you? Why wasn't I the one drunk bowling with you?"
" 'Ou had to work."
"Stop it."
"It was just some guy. I was there. He was there. And it just happened."
"Oh God." I put my hand over my eyes again. "Don't ever say that again."
He smacked his lips in answer.
"I swear if you ever show up at my house again drunk," I waved a stern index finger at him. He followed it obediently. "Without inviting me! I'm putting you in a dress."
He studied me carefully while I went to the kitchen but remained silent. I was in the middle of reheating some Mexican food for the drunk Mexican cop on my couch and wondering exactly how he was issued a fucking gun when I heard him announce in a very evident huff, and with an amount of pride in his voice I very rarely heard, "I'd look hot in a dress."
When I turned to stare at him he'd become completely absorbed in the latest episode of Top Chef and was mocking the French guest judge.
"Goddamn fucking phone. I hate you. I hate you so hard...What."
"Hey, Babe!"
"Why are you so happy?"
"I just bowled a 220. What are you doin'?"
"Cleaning up dog piss. Fatty had a seizure and peed all over me."
"Cool, cool. Can I come over and pee?"
"Pee?"
"Yeah."
I blinked at the distinctly yellow puddle in the middle of my sofa. "...sure. 'Cause that's how I envisioned my Thursday night going. Full o' pee. No class tomorrow? That's okay, you get pee!"
"Okay! I'll be there in two minutes."
"Whatever."
Click.
2 Minutes Later
"Babe!" Boyfriend burst into my living room with all the flourish of a fat dragqueen with oranges shoved down his bra and his dick taped back. "I ruv you!" Then danced into my bathroom and disappeared.
I murmured incoherently while finishing the clean up of the seizured dog urine/mouthfoam combo all over my sofa.
Boyfriend launched himself back into the living room, bounded over to the sofa and plopped down as I rolled the remains of Fatty's mess into a ball and stared at the new peeing menus on my sofa.
I sniffed. Sniffed harder. Stared at the big dumb grin on Boyfriend's face. "Are you drunk?"
"No!" He grinned harder.
"You are. You're drunk." I threw the soiled towels in a pile in the corner and howled, "Why the hell do you get to get drunk when I'm home cleaning dog pee!"
"Aw." Boyfriend stumbled toward me, grabbed my face and kissed my nose...atleast tried kissing my nose instead I got an eyeful of saliva. " 'Ou had to work." Baby talk. I fucking hate baby talk. That alone should have clued me into how trashed he was.
" 'Ou had to work 'ard and I didn't." He smiled and flopped back on the sofa like a dying carp.
I put the back of my hand to my forehead in resignment. No drinks for me. And after the urine/mouthfoam incident still evident on my jeans, I fucking needed a drink.
A distinct smacking noise snapped my attention back to the drunk sitting on my couch. Boyfriend cocked an eyebrow at me and smacked his lips again.
"What?"
"Do you have any of that lippy chappy stuff?"
"Lippy chappy...chap stick?"
He nodded excitedly. I found myself nearly rubbing behind his ears at the excitement. Chap stick, boy! Is it chap stick? Jimmy needs chap stick in the well? Good boy! Good drunk cop on my fucking pee soaked sofa!
"I don't have any." I did. But I thought it be vastly more entertaining to see what he'd do next.
He pouted. "What about that..." He ran his finger over his lips in mock lipstick application.
"You want lipstick?"
"Nah! That's gay. I want that glossy stuff that tastes so good."
"Lip gloss? You want lip gloss instead of chapstick so you don't feel gay?"
"Yup."
"Okay." I fetched the pinkest lip gloss I owned, completely ignoring the stash of chapstick next to it. "Here ya go."
I watched him apply it with a careful concentration I didn't think possible, and then smack his lips together before turning a plumply glossy drunk grin on me.
"How much did you have to drink?"
"Three."
"Three what?"
"Three beers."
"Bullshit." I studied him again. "Three pitchers more likely."
He laughed, "You're so smart!"
"You drank three pitchers of beer?"
"Each."
"Each? Who was with you? Why wasn't I the one drunk bowling with you?"
" 'Ou had to work."
"Stop it."
"It was just some guy. I was there. He was there. And it just happened."
"Oh God." I put my hand over my eyes again. "Don't ever say that again."
He smacked his lips in answer.
"I swear if you ever show up at my house again drunk," I waved a stern index finger at him. He followed it obediently. "Without inviting me! I'm putting you in a dress."
He studied me carefully while I went to the kitchen but remained silent. I was in the middle of reheating some Mexican food for the drunk Mexican cop on my couch and wondering exactly how he was issued a fucking gun when I heard him announce in a very evident huff, and with an amount of pride in his voice I very rarely heard, "I'd look hot in a dress."
When I turned to stare at him he'd become completely absorbed in the latest episode of Top Chef and was mocking the French guest judge.
Labels: The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)
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