The Diner Party

Please, come and Join our Dinner Party


Hossmom came home the other day and let me know that she was going to be late this week because she had to wine and dine a client. They were going to have steak.

I gotta tell ya, I got a little jealous.

Being a stay at home dad, you do miss out on some stuff and up until now I haven’t felt any the worse for it. I don’t miss all the politics that you had to deal with. I don’t miss the cliques or the power struggles that you had to side step and I don’t miss a lot of the morons that promoted their equally unqualified friends. I don’t miss any of that.

But I do miss free food.

No, let me be more clear. I miss the free food that someone else cooks for you. I miss the free food that someone else cleans up after you. I miss the free food that does not go sailing passed my head courtesy of a 2 year old because lord fucking forbid if she eats a broccoli that I may or may not have hidden in her mac and cheese. I miss the free food where you get to actually eat the whole meal instead of getting up halfway to take someone to the potty only to turn your back to find a lost size 3 shoe and get sprayed with toilet water. And as you dance around with equal parts disgust and amazement that someone that young can move so fast, all of a sudden you are tapping your foot and making a gay move in the guy in the next stall.

I miss those things.

I try to be positive about it when this happens. I have my own “dinner meeting” with Little Hoss and Bubba Hoss. We get out the fancy chicken nuggets, the ones shaped like dinosaurs, and grape juice 2008, a great year. We discuss the events of the day, such as if Blue, from Blues Clues, is taking a big hit in the current market downturn as he seems to be heavily leveraged into securities at the moment. Afterwards we retire to the den and have cocktails of juice and perhaps an after dinner cookie.

Then Little Hoss hits her little brother and all hell breaks lose. That’s my dinner party.

And yeah, sometimes it gets to be a little crappy when Hossmom goes out into the real world and hobknobs with the bigshots while I’m home deciding if it counts as bath time if we had to use a lot of wet wipes that day.

So Hossmom went out and I had one request, just one. I thought it was a fair request. And don’t get me wrong, I love what I do but sometimes you do miss being able to go out to a restaurant and not have to worry about if the kids are going sing “Clementine” at the top of their lungs for the enjoyment of the other patrons.

So what was my request? Bring me home a steak. Bring me home a nice, big juicy steak. Medium cooked with a slight touch of garlic on it. Surely during the dinner, as she is feeding the highpriced clients bottles of wine, she can slip in an order for an extra steak. Why not?

Hossmom came home, the kids where in bed and I was eagerly waiting for my steak. But Hossmom didn’t have anything in her hand when she came home. Maybe she left it in the car?

Nope. No steak. Nothing.

When I inquired she stated that they decided to go for Italian instead. I ask you, how often do you have to go out to get tired of steak?

No worries, we have plenty of dinosaur Chicken Nuggets.