81 hours and 30 minutes. That is how long I have until my vacation. My wife and children are going to south Florida for 5 days during spring break. Cathy has completely lost her mind to take three kids to Florida by herself, but I'll be damned if I am arguing with her. I am staying home because I have to "work."
Yes, I am looking forward to this. I am completely prepared for this break in the action. The second I leave work each day I'm playing golf. I am eating meals in a restaurant booth or in the living room out of styrofoam. I have a stack of takeout menus the thickness of a Tom Clancy novel. I'm not cooking anything. I will have complete control of the remote. I've called the cable company to have them block all channels with cartoons or pre-teen shows. Quicker browsing is very important.
Cathy has a list of things that she would like to have done to the house in their absence. My list is a little different. I'm gonna sleep in the middle of the bed, leave a wet towel on the bathroom floor, drink milk directly from the gallon jug, not listen to Jesse McCarthey or Miranda Cosgrove on YouTube, leave my golf clubs in the living room and not do any laundry. I most sincerely will miss my wife and kids, and several people have informed me that I will go insane with the silence. That ain't gonna happen.
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I had plans to play lots of golf since I was expatriated from my job. What's happened since? The house is neater. The clothes are washed twice weekly. Meals are cooked in a less haphazard way. I'm getting more exercise because I'm going on longer walks with the dog. It's the training. Like basic training. I still do hospital corners on the beds. Will you save me?
It took years to get him trained. He's off the leash tomorrow, but he knows it's only for 5 days.
Seriously, though, the house will be cleaner than ever because the kids won't be here to come behind him and undo his work. Plus, I'm confident there will be absolutely no cooking going on this week.
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