Home Alone

Let me start off by saying that as much as I loathe people, I really do not like being alone. Especially home alone. This place is haunted. Wooooo… spooky… Nahh, it’s just really boring and quiet. Why am I alone tonight? Well, my wife took our child and left me… to go on their annual road trip with her sister, I wasn’t able to get the days off. Oh well, I hate the beach anyhow. All that sand, scantly clad ladies, the crabs… Who needs it? Not I! So, as I am sitting here waiting for Letterman to come on, I can only imagine the antics those two girls are getting themselves into. The drive up to the Maine / New Hampshire border was probably uneventful since my sister-in-law will be doing most of the driving. I’m sure there will be the occasional wrong turn, food pit stops and bathroom breaks – three year olds and pregnant women are infamous for their incessant need for bathroom breaks. They left the house at nine o’clock and arrived at the beach within an hour and a half. (Had I been driving, the trip would have been less than an hour. I’ve been known to be a bit aggressive. Attempted vehicular homicide… whatever the hell that means.) While waiting for the early check in at the hotel, around eleven or twelve, they’ll be lounging on the beach: my wife will have laid on a beach towel reading some trashy romance novel and her sister and my son will have played in the sand. After the ol’ ball n’ chain got bored with the reading, she joined in on the fun and everyone entered the water. Splish, splash. Eventually they make their way to the hotel, check in and relax for a few hours. They’ll soon have lunch, prepared by my wife from the food she packed and it will be enjoyed in front of the television. In my experience, the television programming in most hotels and motels sucks. More often than not you’re stuck watching some asshat like the verbal defecators Oprah and Dr. Phil. Rejuvenated and reenergized, the trio hit the town. They make their way to all the regular stops at the junk stores and the knock-off clothing stores. My wife will have browsed through the clothes and looked at the jewelry and brandish the occasional replica katana. When she goes off to find our child and her sister, she’ll find the two taking turns tazing each other with one of the many thirty-dollar tazers available from various stores along the strip. For a quick pick me up snack, cinnamon sugar fried dough then it’s back to the beach until dinnertime. They’d return to the hotel for a quick shower to rinse off that salty brine then slipping into something more comfortable. For my wife, something low cut and eye-popping. Her sister, not to be outdone, also dons something equally as eye-popping and flashy with silver or gold sequins. My son will be dressed in a dark colored outfit to avoid any noticeable spills during dinner. They leave the hotel on foot in search of a sit down restaurant. The stairs, hoots and whistles don’t deter them from their mission and it isn’t far down the road until they find a suitable seafood restaurant. As it is with all women who are super model sexy, they are moved to the front of the line and are offered a booth right away. They didn’t notice, but some fugly girls with their leper boyfriends are ushered away to a table near the door to the kitchen. I can only guess at their choice of entrée: cup of clam chowder and a clam or lobster roll for my wife, mac & cheese and hotdog for my son, and I really have no clue for my sister-in-law… maybe soup, salad and breadsticks. I’m pretty sure she’ll have spent some time at the bar, throwing back some shots and fending off the occasional would-be suitor, drunken sailor, blind man, and confused young woman. Night fell and the group decides to retire back to the hotel. My son crashed as his head hit the pillow, exhausted from the day’s adventure. The hotel room has two beds and a sheet in the middle to provide privacy. Since my son’s asleep, they pull the privacy curtain, strip to their bra and panties, turn on a little trashy television and start up a little “girl” talk. All worked up from their story exchanging and not ready for bed, my sister-in-law dressed to party and left the hotel in search for a club. Not an hour later, she returns with a couple of sexy girls and a lesbian orgy erupts. At least that’s how I envision their day as I sit here and sip my rodeo cool beer from a kool-aid man mug between bites of Chinese take-out.