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Thursday, December 02, 2004


Lonely Old Man

I am so fucking lame.

There are, I know, many married men who, when their wives are out of town, take it as an opportunity to go nuts. Staying out til 2 AM every night! Drinking like a fucking fish with their buddies! Hookers! Hookers! Hookers! Porn! Porn! Porn!

Time alone, for these men, is a period of reclamation; of finding anew their old, undomesticated self. As they once reveled in the novelty of living with a woman and “played house” early in their cohabitation, so do they now, without that woman, “play bachelor.” A wild, hedonistic free-for-all.

My wife is in Philadelphia this week. What am I doing?

Not much. Laundry. Peeing with the bathroom door open (but still putting the seat back down). Watching the Band of Brothers DVDs, because my wife doesn’t like war movies and I want to get them all out of the way before she gets back.

It’s…really, it’s pathetic. Am I taking advantage of this freedom to be naughty? Am I smoking cigarettes? Am I breaking my vegetarian diet and eating forbidden shrimp? Am I having even one lousy beer? Nope. I’m too lame. Too much a creature of habit.


I miss my wife and wish she was here.

Sigh. Sigh.

what large print?
I fixed it. Are you happy, Mr. Picky-Pants?
yes, yes I am, mr. fussybritches.
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