This party is great. The wine is flowing, the food will obviously be awesome, and . . . my wife’s boss. Sits. Right. In front. Of me.

– – –

Erin: okay, that party was kind of lame. 

Me: it *wouldn’t* have been if you had let your boss’ wife pick up her purse discreetly instead of insisting that she eat with us. 

Erin: so what are you saying?

Me: uh, I pretended to be interested in Colorado vacation homes for an hour and a half. What do you think I’m saying?

Erin: Gin at The Usual?

Me: make it so.

– – –

Me: “The wine was good, the gin was necessary, but the tequila was . . . deeply regrettable.”

Erin: “Isn’t tequila always regrettable?”

Me: “Yes, it’s the Nell Carter of booze. Now please bring me a gallon of water and 27 aspirin post-haste.”

– – –

“Listen kids, all parenting requests are hereby rejected until Mom comes back from getting me an emergency bagel sandwich.”

“What’s an emergency bagel sandwich?”

“It’s what I’m going to eat during the emergency silence I am now imposing.”