Home Alone When the Wife Goes Visiting

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about my time at home alone on the weekends my wife goes visiting her sister

Submitted: June 20, 2011

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Submitted: June 20, 2011



I call it my beer and brats weekend.  My home alone weekend.  My quiet time.  Ok..its when the wife goes and visits her sister once or twice a month.  Its my time to do with what I want, even if its nothing, which is what it usally is.  A whole weekend of nothing.  
  Now I dont mind my weekends alone, not much anyway.  It does get boring and Ben dog is to much of a mommys dog to be much fun.  He just lays in his basket and mopes and gives you the bug eye until its Alpo time.  Then the foot and a half tall dozing dog becomes mighty dog and clears the the recliner in a single bound.  I suppose thats entertainment enough, but shorted lived since he cant clear  so much as a hard time after a can and a half of Rotisser...rotess, roto...Oh..you know, that fancy way of cookin chicken... canned chicken parts dog food.
  One of the things I do like to do is cook what I like when shes away.  Unfortunately...that usually involves dishs, pots, pans, stove and oven.  Its a normal part of the procedure, Im well aware of this.  But..when you get typical male going thru mid-life crisis in the kitchen with ideas of the good ole days of Bachelorhood, cookouts and beer bashs, well..lets say the kitchen takes on a whole new light.
  Im a good cook, I really am.  Most males going thru their mid-crisis will say the same thing.  But seriously, Im good.  I get even better after 4 or 5 beers.  I call it creative thinking.  Whats usually bland and boring becomes the life of the fixins.  Add a dash or 2 or 3...or so of hot sauce, some crushed red pepper, a tad or so of worches..worshist..worchis..you know...steak sauce and shoot, tomato soup like youve never tasted.  Of course, you gotta toss the beer in for texture.  The beer as you will see, is the center of most all activities on "Home alone weekends"
  Which brings me around to the dishs, pots, pans, stove and oven.  Odd how you never really notice how many of those utensils you actually use, nor the over all condition of the kitchen as the evening and meal progress's.  And...you know how you start out with a cupboard full of plates?  Or a cleared sink and counter?That seems to go out the window.  But thats a whole other story.
  I have a thing for beef.  Its a macho male mid-life crisis thing when the wifes gone.  Beef and beer.  A mans combo meant for a man...thats, yea, you know the rest of it by now.  Fire the broiler up...wrap the taters, grab a beer, wrap the taters.  *scratchs head and thinks to self,,, Ive done this before*  
  Its right about here that you relize the beer situation is becoming critical to the male home alone thing.  Ive never been one to plan ahead very carefully...so right about here involves a run to the carry-out for more beer.  Of course, along the way, that magical ingrediant will pop into my head.  Yessss...some vinegar and shrimp sauce, sour cream and French Dressing.  That should make one hell of a marinade.  Keep in mind folks..12 unguarded beers has been violated at this point.
  Everythings ready.  Steaks been marinaded, taters wrapped, something else wrapped and Im sauced.  Let the cooking begin.  Taters and unknown foil wrapped objects is in the oven, steaks on the broiler, time for yet..another beer.  Tosss the salad.  Ok..a little to much toss.  A little lettuce on the floor never hurt no one.  Five second rule applies here.
  Its at this point, Ben dog is looking at me sorta funny.  Could be because the TV is blasting some Bob Seger biker song and I got this wild biker, home alone look going and I dont even like motorcycles.  Are you getting the visual yet?  Yea..thats the look Ben dogs got going on about now.
  Have you ever noticed the time difference when you involve cooking, home alone and beer?  It flies by, I tell ya what.  One minute Im wrapping....stuff, flipping steak, tossing what slightly resembles salad, the next thing I know, smoke detectors are sounding off, yes detectorS, we have like 6 of them in the house.  Ben dogs whailing and howling like hes just seen the 4 horsemen of the apacolypse bearing down on him and the neighbors knocking on the door.  Both dog and neighbor in a panic.
  Kitchen is in a smoke filled haze or maybe its me thats in the haze, steak burnt, taters not fairing much better and the other foil wrapped object is beginning to move on its own.  After turning on the vent, opening all doors and windows, I manage to get the ALL the smoke detectors quieted down.  Ben dog and neighbor are both iffy bout now.  My plan is simple.  Give the neighbor a beer, bribe Ben dog with the burnt steak and call Dominoes..which takes 8 minutes to place my order and make them understand I want WINGS..simple buffalo wings...grab another beer, and leave the kitchen till morning.  *Side note..Someone swiped my broiler I left outside in the grass after I tossed it out..flames and all*
  Alls well finally...sorta.  Neighbor goes home, Ben dog finds a dark spot upstairs to hide and my wings are on the way.  After a short 45 minutes which seemed like an hour and 45 minutes theres a knock at my door.  In the rush to answer it, I fall over a dish towel, a coffee cup, 3 empty beer cans and Ben dogs basket, only to be greeted by the Pizza Hut delivery guy.  Huh?  Pizza Hut?  Oh well..wings are wings, right?Pizza?  Are you sure buddy I ask?  He shows me a ticket with slur, dribble, scribble.  Yep..looks like what I said and with a quick glance back at the kitchen...Pizza?  NO problem.

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