Five days on my own, living the bachelor’s life — no one to worry about but me, and free to do whatever I like. No wife. No kid. Five days. On my own. Eat what I want. Drink what I want. Sleep when I want, if I want. Goof around. Get into trouble. All by myself.
HELP!!!!
When you’re left alone for almost a week there’s a part of you that dreads it — it’s been especially tough not seeing my daughter — and part of you that thinks, “Man, this could be really fun. We can go around in the same pair of underwear all week.”
Luckily, there’s not too much of me thinking like that, but it’s nice to know you have that kind of freedom. (Yes, I did change my underwear several times.)
My wife went to Long Island with my daughter to help out a cousin who’s been having some health problems. How a woman towing a 2-year-old child who has the energy of bottled plutonium could be of any help at all is beyond me, but off they trekked leaving me to myself.
I wasn’t looking forward to them leaving, but I will make the most of anything. Besides, living alone sounded fun. I imagined all kinds of good times, like drinking tequila shots until two in the morning. (That dream dies pretty quickly when you realize you don’t have tequila, you don’t like tequila, and if you stayed up until two in the morning, it would probably kill you.)
I did cut loose somewhat. I started by leaving every drawer or cabinet with a baby lock on it wide open. Oooh, now that felt good. Everything was in easy and convenient reach for the first time in two years. What a thrill.
I ordered enough takeout food to feed Manhattan, and ate donuts from sun up to sun down.
I did a number of house projects, including re-painting the kitchen floor, which helped me realize one of my lifelong dreams: without access to the fridge I had to set up a cooler in the dining room full of supplies, and mostly beer. It was like living in a dorm room for two days, and my dog nearly left me.
Actually, too many projects were done for a guy with zero parental supervision. It was almost disappointing how productive I was, and how little football I watched.
I learned that it’s tough when there’s no one around to ask for assistance or to grab you a necessary tool when you’re high up on a step ladder. Not to mention someone to call 911. The dog was of no use whatsoever. She’s a wonderful dog, but absolutely useless. I don’t know how many times I yelled at her, “Grow some thumbs. I need you to get me a screwdriver out of the shed.” She just stared at me.
I thought I would enjoy the silence. But it turns out I hate silence. I hate it when it’s peaceful and calm. That’s boring. The dog doesn’t talk. The dog doesn’t run around the house like a deranged lunatic screaming for Elmo. I ended up having a conversation with a Cookie Monster doll and banging on pots and pans.
I had such big plans: do the wash and mix all kind of colors with white shirts; not make the bed; set something on fire.
None of it appealed to me. Shoot, I even remembered to run the dishwasher and take out the garbage. What’s wrong with me?!?
What a week. A squirrel fell out of a pecan tree while I was walking to work one day and almost hit me on the head. That was exciting. But otherwise, it was pretty dull. Pretty boring and forgettable. Nothing to do. No one to talk to, and boy was I ready for my family to come home. It’s good to have my peace and quiet gone, and my bachelor days behind me.
I’ll give up wearing the same pair of underwear for a little company any day. (But I do want to keep the cooler full of beer in the dining room.)