"Call your doctor if your erection lasts longer than four hours."
I almost called.
…but I digress…
So let’s back up a bit...as this is really an update on My Sticky Icky Advent Calendar.
So, the day after Thanksgiving is normally called “Black Friday.”
This is the day that freaks from all over the country line up at 2 in the morning to score deals at stores for Christmas.
…and to try to funnel through single mall doors ultimately resulting in the death and/or dismemberment of other shoppers because of the resulting stampede.
Anyway, for us, Black Friday meant freedom.
My mother informed us that she would be taking the children to see “Bee Movie” that Friday. The wife and I were ecstatic. We couldn’t, honestly, remember the last time we had the house to ourselves.
So what did the wife and I do?
Make Jell-O shots?
Play naked Twister?
Unfortunately, Black Friday is also the day that I’m tasked with putting up the Christmas tree AND doing the lights in the front of the house.
As is typical, Thanksgiving was close to 60 degrees.
Do I choose to do the outside lights on a 60-degree day?
I do them on the following Friday.
Which was 37 degrees and windy.
And, as is also typical, the amount of lights that are actually WORKING are cut in half from the previous year.
Add to the fact that I can hear my wife inside on the phone giggling, while I’m cutting my hands on wires and twisty ties, and my mood just goes south.
THEN she has the balls to bang on the window while she’s on the phone, laughing, and gives me the wave that says, “hey hon…having fun? I know you’re not but tough shit..ha ha”…and I’m ready to kill.
After two hours of swearing and yelling and making up songs (I made up this one this year sung to or about no one in particular…just summing up my feelings in putting up the lights: “I hate Christmas lights…oh, yes I do….I hate Christmas lights…and I hate yoooouuuu….”)
(honey, that was NOT about you...it was just a hate song, and I needed a word to rhyme with "do"...I promise)
Anyway…you can see how well I get into the Christmas spirit.
…back to the alone time…
So, lights done, the wife and I were able to snag some quick (as in, mouse-quick) alone time before the kids got home.
It was so quick, in fact, that I'm coining a new phrase:
"Ridiki-quickie" - short, for "Ridiculously Quick Quicky"
Me: "Ok..I'm in. OK...I'm done."
Wife: "Great. A Ridiki-quickie. It's fine, I have to make the kids' lunches and I only had 2 minutes to spare anyway."
(I can hear the ladies swoon)
One 3-Musketeers gone.
Anyway, later in that day, I was taking Cool-Whip out of the fridge.
I looked at my wife.
She looked at me holding said Cool-Whip...and gave me the naughty-eye.
She said something to the effect of, “When’s the last time we did twice in one day?”
TWO IN ONE DAY?!?!?
I try to think.
In my head, the calendar starts flipping back like I’m going through time in an old black and white movie…
Well, I’m 39 now…
…subtract the square root of 7 divided by pi….carry the four….
“Oh, Christ,” I said…”I have no idea.”
With this in mind, and with about a half-hour prior to the kids going to bed…I go for backup:
Levitra (a registered trademark of the Stiff Johnson & Stiff Johnson corporation)
Why I have these are not important. What IS important is that my get-up-and-go had got-up-and-went a while ago.
I had no idea what toll would be taken on my junk if I was to – gasp – try a second time only a mere 8 hours apart.
..so I ran upstairs and secretly popped one…”She’ll be so impressed,” I’m thinking…
NOW I’m prepared to go…
LOOK OUT WORLD! Daddy's going for #2!!!
I then run back downstairs…to find….
…my wife bent over the kitchen island holding her side, suddenly nauseous…a stomach flu…virus…something…
“I don’t feel very good,” she says.
..blood drains from my face...
..it's not going to happen...
And I just popped my pill.
..and she just popped my balloon…
And now I’ve got the infantry coming….without a battle to win!
With the kids in bed, my wife conked out on the chair.
(In the meantime, deep within my little midget loins, Mr. Winky is silently itching for a fight...but he ain’t gonna be getting one)
Hoping for the best, we head to bed.
My wife falls asleep.
I close my eyes…and try to drift to slumberland…
…somehow, it happens.
The kick is up. The kick is good.
I can no longer sleep on my stomach.
..what was I thinking of to cause THIS?!?...oh well...need to get rid of it so I can sleep...
Think grandma…think grandma…think grandma….
I go to the bathroom, hoping it’s a pee-boner…
It’s not a pee-boner.
However, in the hopes that it is a pee-boner, I DO almost end up breaking the thing in half trying to wrench it down to aim it into the toilet while sprawled almost horizontally, hands against the wall, to get a better angle (I should have just ran into the kids’ bathroom, peed all over the place, and blamed it on my son).
…finally…it goes away….
…for, like, about an hour.
I have the Jason Voorhees of penises! It…won’t…DIE!!!!!
…grandma, grandma, grandma…
...not working...try something worse...
…Minnie Driver, Minnie Driver, Minnie Driver….
Eventually..it goes away…phew.
…for about an hour…
This time, wife snoozing….I decide to take matters into my own hands.
Another 3-Musketeers bites the dust.
A job well done….I drift to sleep.
Well…at least, one of us drifts off to sleep….
(queue Jaws music)
MOTHER OF GOD WHAT IS IN THIS PILL?!?!?!?
MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!
MR. LEVITRA….MAKE IT STOP!!!!!
This is how my Friday night went. An average of one woody-per-hour (wph) for the entire night.
If I ever enter the runt porn industry, I know what I’ll need in my backpack when I show up the first day...you know, aside from my red pumps.
At one point, I actually considered calling my doctor (what’s the ad say?: “Contact your doctor if you have an erection that lasts longer than four hours…as it may indicate a serious medical condition?”…and now I’m going on 8 hours…)
I got a total of two hours of sleep.
I woke up with a headache.
On the bright side, Whack Friday killed off THREE 3-Musketeers bars.
I'm past my halfway point.
But..never, ever, ever again.
I had a much better time stringing my f*cking lights.