The Flying Phone

I was tired.  Just tired. 

Not tired of life, not tired of anyone and not tired of what I do.  I mean I was just physically exhausted.  I was tired as in, ya know, really tired.  I should have gone to bed but I was refusing to.  It was 9:30 and I had just gotten my very own free time.  Normally, I don't pull so many late nights before actually getting to sit down, but on occasion it does happen. 

After the kids got home from school, we had to have a wrestle, all three of us.  Why?  Because those little bastards need to know who's in charge.  One day they will be able to over throw my rule, slip poison into my mead or perhaps convince a jilted lover to seek out vengeance.  But that is not this day.  They need to remember that I can throw them through the air as needed.  When they land on the couch they need to remember how strong Dad is because when I grow weak and old, they shall destroy me.  It will be our final battle. 

That and it's just fun to wrestle with the kids. 

Before to long, it was time to go to soccer practice.  I help coach Bubba Hoss's team and by "help" I mean I mostly just yell at a lot of 5 year olds.  I know nothing about soccer but I can organize men into lines.  That I can do.  Ask me soccer strategy, I got nothing.  Ask me to set up cones and then yell at kids to go in and out of those cones, I'm your man.  Don't ask me why they are going in and out of those cones, I wouldn't know, that's beyond my area of expertise.  I just know that is what they are supposed to do.  Bacon Hoss was with me and Hossmom was not, she was working late.  When she works late, I work late.  Solo parenting at night sucks balls, I do not enjoy it.  After a full day of them and being the awesome that I am, I do get tired.  Bacon didn't want to sit with the other parents on the sideline so he helped me coach a bit.  And I will give my team credit, they hardly tried to hit him with the soccer ball, a big accomplishment for boys that age.  It's either that or they have truly horrible aim, which could also be the case. 

After soccer comes dinner.  I'll admit it, I was to tired to cook.  It was late and I didn't feel like it knowing that I had a full night ahead of me.  But while we were getting our fast food completely unhealthy meal, Bacon Hoss decided that he was hungry too.  He let me know this by screaming the entire way home.  We did make it home and I only had to swerve once trying to get him to be quiet.  At Dinner I played a very fun game with Bacon Hoss called "Feed me, I don't want it."  This is where he screams until he has a spoon in front of his face with some sort of mush on it.  The minute I go in for the delivery he decides to get distracted by something, like a dog that he has seen all day, every day, for his entire life.  Instead of the food going in his mouth, it pops him in the cheek and smears.  He realizes he has bested me yet again and begins screaming signifying round 2. 

After dinner was bedtime, which wasn't actually to bad.  Little Hoss and Bubba Hoss only fought and ignored me 10 times before I lost my shit and threatened to sell them each to the next solicitor that comes to my door.  We read books and usually Bacon Hoss, all of 7 months, usually loves this part.  Tonight, not so much.  He hated reading so much that he made several attempts to throw himself off the bed to get away and only my cat like reflexes saved his neck.  He owes me.  He repaid me by not wanting to go to sleep. 

So when 9:15 rolled around, when everyone was finally in their beds asleep and no one needed a glass of water or to tell me a story of what the squirrel did today at the playground, I was tired.  I was tired and looking forward to watching my football game that I had been recording.  Hossmom finally got home and landed on the couch.  I grunted at her to show her how much I loved her being home. 

I did not see the phone sailing in the air at me.  I should have.  An alert Hoss would have.  Hell, even a younger me would have.  But I was tired and my gaze was fixed on the little people in red and white chasing eachother around the screen. 

The cellphone sailed up, reached an apex at about 32,000 feet and started it's descent reminiscent of a meteor breaking the atmosphere.  When it landed, it chose to hit me in the balls.  The right ball specifically.  And to give my wife and her phone truly all the credit, it came down on my ballsack directly on the corner of the phone like some evil wizard had cast a spell to guide it . It, um, hurt. 

You wouldn't think it would hurt that bad but every guy reading this knows that when you get hit square, velocity really doesn't have much to do with the amount of pain.  There's a sweet spot to nut hitting and her aim had been true. 

The breath rushed out of me along with some spittle.  I slid out of the chair holding my injured baby makers and got to my knees, the universal sign of "ball injury."  I gasped and coughed and tried to sing a lullaby to myself until the pain went away.  After a good 10 minutes, and with my face red, I looked up at Hossmom who was also doubled up, only with laughter and not testicle pain. 

"What the hell man!" I asked her. 

"I wanted you to look at something I was reading." she said in between snorts.  Then she went back to laughing.  I was hoping that it was something important to cause me such severe pain.  If we hadn't already had 3 kids I would be doubting my ability to make any more. 

"You could at least say sorry, damnit." I told her.  I'll admit, I was a little pissed, even though it was an accident.  Apparently she told me to "catch" and didn't get the nod from me to go ahead and throw the phone.  She just assumed I had heard her and perhaps I would have if I wasn't in a coma like state looking at the TV. 

"I did say I was sorry" she said.  I called bullshit.  "When!?"

"When you were moaning on the ground." 

Ah, fantastic.  It seems to me that any apology is not very sincere when the recipient cannot hear it in the first place through moans of agony and chortles of laughter. 

I grabbed the phone and looked at the article.  It was 10 Halloween costumes that should have never been made.  That is what caused my pain, that's the article.  At least make it something like a cat meme or a naked picture.  Then perhaps it would have been worth it. 

I gave Hossmom the remote.  I'm done today.  Tomorrow I wake up in full on battle gear. 

1 comment:

  1. "What the hell man!" I asked her.

    This may be the funniest phrase I've ever heard.