Give ‘em an inch, and they’ll take…….

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know – I asked for it.

A week or so ago, I was corresponding with the Big Dubya’s famous (infamous?) best-bud (known here in blogland as 39).

See, I have a theory that every “married with child(ren)” type guy has a 39 in his life. 39’s the guy who’s been with you since grade school…. seen you through thick & thin…… he’s one of the family. He’s the guy that hasn’t settled down (hell, he may never settle down), and he manages to simultaneously make you long for your "young and frisky" days while also making you really, really grateful that those days are behind you.

Anyway, 39 mentions this other guy (who I am not a fan of by the way) is having a “fire on Saturday night”… it sounds kind of dastardly I know, but I know what he means. I gently reminded him that by the time Saturday night rolls around I’ll be 35½ weeks pregnant so, although I really appreciate the info…. I’m clearly not going to partake in the festivities (despite the fact that I really do need a break) – but, hmmmmmm it might be nice to let the Big Dubya cut loose for the night. It’ll be a while before he gets the chance again, and he hasn’t seen these guys in a while…… 39 then reminds me that most wives don’t think this way…. and that my husband is a lucky guy.... I like being known as the "cool wife" -- kinda stupid, I know -- but I like being the one that is low-maintenance and reasonable.... that is, of course, until it bites me in the ass and being "low-maintenance" translates into feeling "neglected, forgotten and taken for granted".

So, at 2:00 on Saturday afternoon the Big Dubya packed his bag and headed off to his party in the woods. My only request was that he kept his cell phone on and accessible….as, I’m 35½ weeks pregnant and home alone (168.7 miles away from “the fire”) with a slightly under-the-weather 16 month old… if I need to get a hold of him in a hurry, I don’t want to be calling all over creation trying to track him down.

You knew it was going to happen (no, thankfully not labor)…. Sometime around 5:30, Granny called to ask if the Big Dubya was going to be eating dinner with them….. they were going out to eat and didn’t want to leave without him, but they also didn’t want to wait if he wasn’t coming. I had no idea what his dinner plans were…… so I called his cell phone....

YEP, I GOT VOICEMAIL!

In fairness, he was visiting his parents and cell phone coverage at Nana & Papa Dubya’s house isn’t so good – so, it’s fine that I got voicemail……. But, I got no return phone call…. There was a vague text message sometime close to 7:00 saying that he arrived safe, but I didn’t get a return phone call.

It wasn’t until 10:00am on SUNDAY that I finally heard from him.

There was no call to see how the ‘lil man was doing…..

There was no, “Hey honey, I’m about to get plowed on micro-brews and Cuban cigars…. so if you need me to come home, better say so now while I can still drive…” call

No, there was no call at all...... nothing.....

Maybe it's the hormones....... I dunno........ it's not even that I'm mad....'cuz I'm not really..... his going to the damn fire was my idea in the first place, but my feelings are pretty hurt.

Shouldn't he have wanted to check-in on us? How is it possible that even good guys fuck-up the easy stuff, huh?