I may have to divorce my wife. It's a shame really, I am quite fond of her. We are good together, we are a good team. My weaknesses are her strengths and vice versa. We have 3 kids together. I feel like we have been through a lot over the last 20 years. She was a minx of an 18 year old when she fell for my charm. Her laugh caught me quick. 1995, a very good year.
We have had many conversations during that time. Both have said a lot of things, sometimes hurtful. However, there reaches a point where one person goes to far. Somethings some say just can't be taken back.
"Ug, I'm just so tired of steak for dinner."
That's what she said. Hand to god I'm not making this up. That is what she said. And when she said it, and when our friend agreed with her, I knew that it was pretty much over and I would have to hit our friend in the mouth just out of god damn principle.
Our friend came into town on business and went to dinner with us after a hard day of working. I can only assume he is swindling old ladies out of their church money, given that he too gets tired of steak dinners. They both decided that we should eat Chinese because I can only assume they both love communism and child labor camps.
It was nice to be out with people, even if the kids were with us. It was nice to talk about adult things, things that didn't involve school grades or cheerios. I don't get that level of conversation that much. But as usually happens when we get together with other people who work, my wife and he began to talk shop and traveling for work.
My opportunities for work travel, as you can imagine, are few and far between. What I would call a work trip you would call a vacation. My work travel usually also includes a dirt cheap hotel and a kiddo that just won't go to freaking sleep even though we've been on the road all day. By 12am I end up calling my wife while hiding in the bathroom. But you have to whisper because if you wake up the toddler I'm going to kill you.
As my friend and my wife talk about traveling for work, as they both do often, the conversation took a devilish turn. And I don't mean like a good twist, or a plot point that has sexy consequences with a college bar maid. No, I mean that by the end of it that I was looking at two satanists, how have I not seen this before.
"Yeah, one of the things that I hate about work travel is the dinner after a full day of work. It's never a quick dinner, it's like three hours. It's always at some fancy steak house and I don't get back to the hotel until late. I get tired of steak."
Right there. Right at that moment is when she broke my heart and I lost my friend.
So we are clear, when my wife isn't with us our dinners consist of things that can be described as some sort of "wiz" or "Mc". There are a lot of sandwhiches, corn dogs, nuggets and things in the shape of dinosaurs. There is no steak. My "treat" is usually whatever the kids didn't eat. The dog and I split it.
You can say "Hossman, make yourself a steak then damnit!"
Shut your mouth, you obviously don't have kids. Cooking up a juicy wonderful steak just right can be difficult. Cooking one while one kid latches onto your leg, another one is throwing rocks at the third one, a dog that smells the meat and a cat that frankly hates us all, is a chore man. It's tough. To get it right you have to ignore someone and some days I like the dog a hell of a lot more than the kids. If I cooked the steak just right, while remembering to stir the mac and cheese or not burning the nuggets, then one of my kids is going to end up on the roof wondering if they can "make the jump".
And then after I do that, I set the table, get everyone milk or juice, ketchup because that goes on everything, napkins because they are a bunch of dirty bastards, and am lucky enough to sit done to enjoy my still warm steak, As soon as my butt hits the chair someone will be out of milk, mac and cheese has flipped off a plate, the dog thought it was meat and is licking the toddler, and suddenly the 7 year old decides he's to old for dinosaur shaped food can he have something else? My steak is now cold, my beer is warm and somehow I have ended up with a green bean in my pants and I didn't even cook green beans.
I look at my wife and our friend and try to make sense of what they are saying. Just so I understand, can anyone understand? You get tired of going out to a steak house. That you don't have to pay for. That you can order any prime cut of meat you want. That someone will make for you. That someone will give you alcoholic drinks and bread so you have something to do before the steak gets there. That if you don't like, you can send back and get another one??!! That you can talk about world things, important things that have nothing to do with Paw Patrol. So that you can go back to a nice hotel and grab all the pillows that you want. That no one is screaming in the middle of the night that they can't sleep. That you can leave the door open while you poop.
That. That's what your hardship is? That's what you get tired of??
I can't relate to this conversation that they are having. I can't join in. I can't give some witty observation. I can't because what they are saying makes no sense. It's like they are speaking in tongues and even in that language, that only tongue speaking people and God can understand, even those people think my wife and our friend are crazy and want no part of your steak hating dogma.
Now this is the part of the blog where I come around and maybe give them some credit, try to see things from their side. See the hardship placed on them and think perhaps anything in excess can be a bad thing. I'll learn to be more empathtic and end perhaps with a funny little note of understanding.
Not going to happen. Steak is fucking awesome. Steak that someone else cooks for you and brings to you is even more fucking awesome. There is no lesson to be learned from this story. I would eat steak every day like that and never get tired of it. I could have steak and eggs for breakfast, steak fajitas for lunch, a nice strip for dinner. I could do this every day of my life for as long as I live. And as I lay down on my death bed at 55 with clogged arteries from all the red meat, as the meat sweats come off me still, as a piece of gristle has replaced my liver, I would look at my wife. I would hold her hand. My friend would be there with us, comforting me in my last moments. My breathing would be labored but I could get out one more sentence, just one.
"It was worth it you commie bastards."