Okay, maybe it could be worse, but I'm currently sitting holed up in my bedroom while my husband and his lug-headed best friend are out in the living room, which they've somehow taken over, playing video games. Call me crazy or selfish or whatever, but how how the hell did this happen? One minute my husband is telling me over lunch today that his best friend Doug is planning to pick us up from the metro stop after work to take us home since he'd "forgotten something." The next minute I find myself in hell.
What was it Doug had forgotten? A video game console. No biggie, I figured he'd pick it up, have a glass of wine perhaps, and leave. I mean, it is Tuesday night after all and Millionaire Matchmaker is premiering this evening. My plan for the night was to laze around in my negligee and laugh at all of Patti Stanger's bad jokes on Bravo while drinking Two-Buck Chuck out of the bottle. Instead I found myself sitting on the couch net to Doug, his sweaty hands clutching his gaming controller, his tongue sticking out of his half-open mouth in intense concentration, as he and my husband played something that sounded like we were sitting on the sidelines of a battle in Kuwait.
Three hours later? Same thing. I asked politely if we could do something else, but all I get are the token "Yeah, five more minutes" responses that lead nowhere. And what am I supposed to do? Blow up at husband for ruining my night and taking over out living room with Doug? He's check-mated me into submission by having company over like this, and he knows it. Sigh. In the meantime I've moved to the bedroom to get away from the obnoxious shooting sounds and I hope Doug goes home soon. Not that I don't like him, but I CAN'T STAND VIDEO GAMES! They are SUCH a waste of time! (And I know, it's not like anything on Bravo is that much more productive, but something about video games irritates the flip out of me!)
Right about now I'd love to put on my trannie pumps and clomp all over my husband's stupid video game discs, cackling with glee each time my 4-inch heel punctures the glossy surfaces. But such things are better left to the imagination, I suppose.