Boy’s Night Out

“Jeff, you need to do something about the boy.” Trina’s body language and the tone of her voice made it readily apparent that things at home did not go quite as smoothly as anyone expected today. With four daughters and a son, it makes it much easier to figure out who is in trouble when she utters that phrase. Since Dakota and I are the only boys in the house I quickly calculated all of the things on my “honey do” list to decide whether she was talking about me or Dakota. “Is Dakota in trouble?” I asked. I figured I had a 50-50 chance of it being me and that it would be best to not try and be subtle. If I was the one in trouble I might as well take it head on and get it over with.


“He is driving me and the girls crazy!” Whew, I am off the hook. At that point she began doing her native mad-mother dance where she bounced around in circles waving her arms wildly chanting in some language unknown to the male population. It’s always funny to watch this ritual but I learned long ago not to smile or seem amused otherwise it meant a week of camping out on the couch and that just didn’t seem like a good thing right now. So I put on my empathetic face and at each change of direction in the dance I would slowly shake my head back and forth acting sympathetic to her dilemma. To be honest though I had no idea what the problem was. If I were stuck in a house full of women day in and day out I think would probably do very similar things. Sure, rubber snakes and plastic bugs don’t belong in make up cases or in the bottom of beds but then pantyhose and feminine product packages don’t belong out in the open in the bathroom either so I figure they’re probably even. But I have to act like he just committed some kind of crime otherwise I am implicated by gender. So after the dust settles and Trina has called upon the punishment gods I give her a sympathetic hug and say I will take him with me and we’ll have a talk.

So I grab the seat cushions, two tickets, a bag of peanuts, and some money for parking and we head out the door. The Diamondbacks are playing the Dodgers and I can think of nothing further away from the thick cloud of estrogen than baseball. On the way down I listen to Dakota’s side of the story and explain to him how he needs to be a little more stealth about his retaliation or else mom is going to catch on that this is just a way to make sure that we get to go to the game together. I tell him that in order to get out of mom’s dog house he will probably have to quit drinking juice out of the carton for a week and when mom says it is time for a bath he has to at least go in there and run water. He agrees (as usual) and we spend the rest of the drive thinking about how awesome it is to have season tickets just so we have an excuse for a boy’s night out.


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