A walk on the wild side

You know me by now – aging, boring father of two. Slowly but surely graying, fighting the good fight against waistline creep. Overall a generally ordinary, responsible husband and father. Corporate worker bee, closeted in the industrial gray cubicle world much of the week. Watches little TV, therefore socially disadvantaged. Reads too much.

It would be understandable for you to be thinking, “ah yes, the Family Man. Probably a good guy, but let’s face it; he’s boring. If I’m throwing a party, I’m not sure I want to invite him. I already have a very nice houseplant.”

And I would not blame for having that impression.

But…you’d be wrong.

Little do you know that once a week I break out, cut loose, let my hair down and go absolutely wild. Bust out of the boring shell that is me and, temporarily, become a true Party Animal.

Mayhem in the streets!

During the week, if not exactly a model citizen, I am an image of predictable respectability. Get up each morning, shower, put on my starched white collar corporate-dress uniform, eat oatmeal for breakfast. Drive to work with every other cloned drone on the freeway, listening to news radio. Arrive at The Suburban Office Park, shuffle inside and toe the Corporate Line, striving to achieve maximum output. Lunch at my desk, always a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread. A cup of yogurt. Meetings, conference calls, reports and spreadsheets. Drive home with the crowd, late for dinner. Play with Chris and Tommy, help with baths, reading books, the tuck-in ritual. A few minutes to exchange pleasantries with MBW. Change into gym clothes, head to the gym. Sweat profusely with little gain. Return home, wash up, go through the mail, pay bills, get organized for tomorrow. Maybe read a few pages of a magazine. Go upstairs, check on Chris and Tommy, kiss each softly on the forehead, crawl into bed. Asleep within two minutes.

Do it all over again.

Saturday is errands – banking, post office, hardware store. Household responsibilities. Perhaps a visit to Krispy Kreme with the boys. Playing with Chris and Tommy, the best part of the day – skiing, sledding, snowball fights in winter. Bikes, parks, soccer, hiking in other seasons. Other things as they come up, mostly family related.

Sunday is church, then much of the same as Saturday, again depending upon the season and whatever else needs to be done. Sunday night –get ready for Monday.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

“So, Family Man, ‘Mr. Excitement,’ when exactly do you ‘bust out?’”

Saturday night, my friend. Saturday night.

It goes like this.

You know how the day goes. The bedtime ritual for Chris and Tommy is sacred. Inviolate. But once they are properly tucked in, it’s that much closer.

MBW is soon to bed after that. For one so lovely, she still insists on getting plenty of what she calls Beauty Sleep.

The house is now quiet. The day’s responsibilities complete. The rest of the evening is mine. All mine.

Party Time!

I head to the kitchen to mix a drink. We have a reasonably well-stocked beverage cabinet. After carefully considering all the choices, I go straight for the hard stuff. Diet Coke on the rocks. Shaken, not stirred. Feeling especially frisky, I make it a double. Next, I hit the pantry for a bag of microwave popcorn. While it’s popping, I gather the rest of my party materials – The Wall Street Journal, the latest issue of Business Week, and whatever novel I happen to be reading at the time.

The popcorn complete, the party is about to begin. I load everything up, step out the backdoor, place my supplies on the deck and lift the cover off my hot tub. Ease into the bubbling pool of paradise, take a sip of my dangerously strong Diet Coke, and give myself over to the wild side.

It’s winter here, so it’s dark and cold outside. I’ve turned on the light so I can read while I soak. I’ve mentioned before that despite living in subdivision suburbia, our back yard is reasonably private. The hot tub is even more so, thanks to strategically planted trees that are now somewhat mature. Private enough that, even with the light on, I can soak au natural.

I told you – Saturday nights I am a crazy man!

The bubbles and jets of the hot tub begin to work their magic. That warm, relaxing feeling begins to emerge. Unable to restrain myself I turn immediately to the Wall Street Journal. Have you ever spent quality time with the Wall Street Journal? It’s compelling stuff! Stocks, Bonds, Economic Reports – now that’s what I call a good time.

Next I turn to Business Week. This party is really jumping now! The cover story is about the new autos coming out this year, along with stories about high finance and strategic marketing. It’s enough to send shivers down my spine!

Finally I turn to the novel I’m reading. This week it is historical fiction, The Scourge of God, some account of Attila the Hun. What could be better than barbarians battling Romans? Extremely entertaining!

Suddenly the light goes out.

I begin to consider whether or not I want to get out of the tub and change the light bulb so I can continue to read, or simply sit in the darkness and look at the stars. Before I reach a decision, the back door opens. MBW is sanding there, wearing, well, not much.

Just by looking at her I can tell it is, in fact, a cold winter evening.

Silently she steps forward toward the tub. It appears that she, too, has made a visit to the beverage cabinet and has chosen a drink a bit stronger than my Diet Coke. Thoughtful woman that she is, she has two glasses.

She sets down the beverages, casts a furtive glance toward the dark homes partially visible from our deck, and slips out of her cover-up. She gracefully enters the tub, her long, slender leg barely making a ripple in the water. She moves like a dancer. The water parts as if the tub is honored to receive her, barely rippling – unlike when I enter, splashing and sloshing like a walrus falling off a rock.

I reach back for the drinks she brought as she slides into the tub next to me.

No words need to be said as we sit there silently in the warm, soothing waters of the hot tub. The night is dark and still, the stars brilliant on this chilly winter night. Gently we clink glasses, a silent toast to this evening, this life we have made together.

For the record, I have done what many of you did this past Saturday night. I’ve done my share of pub crawls. I’ve come home as the sun was coming up and my dad was coming out the door on his way to work. I was thrown out of a nightclub during my college days, my hand a bloody mess from some ridiculous altercation. I woke up more than once on a Sunday morning not knowing where I was or who I was with, how I got there or what I did. I’ve slept on the beach rather than try to go home.

I’m glad I’ve had those experiences. Because they make what I’m doing right now even more special, more meaningful. Say what you will – while this technically may not be a party, it is a celebration. A celebration of what we have together. And right now, there is nowhere else I’d rather be, no one else I’d rather be with. And there is absolutely no better way to spend a Saturday night than to sit in our hot tub, under a beautiful starry sky on a cool winter evening, sharing a beverage and each other’s company.

By and by we’ll finish our drinks, wrap up in warm, thirsty towels, dry off and go to bed.

About an hour after that, we’ll go to sleep.

And come Sunday morning I’ll begin counting the days until Saturday night once again.

It’s great to be The Family Man!