I just don’t love how tired I am the next morning. I keep trying to knock it out of park like I’m twenty, but in reality I’m rounding forty, can rarely make it through a night without getting up to pee and I have an arthritic shoulder. I also don’t like that women peak so late in life, when men are starting to feel the abuse that their bodies have taken over the years. Had I known, I wouldn’t have done things like, but not limited to:
- Jumping out of speeding watercraft
- Seeing how many headbutts I could take before concussing (7)
- Seeing how many girls I could kiss, without getting herpes (18)
- Jumping off of assorted bridges, because Joe did.
- Punching bouncers
- Other various feats of strength
Of course, my male ego likes to make me think I’m worn out because I last so long and go at it with such adolescent enthusiasm that any mortal man would faint at the task, but I think if we ask the future Mrs. Birdman, we would learn differently. (Excuse me as I weep silently, while clutching at shreds of my manliness.)
Oh well, now that the kids are back to school, we get back on schedule, which is date night every Wednesday, and on every other Thursday is the best day of all. (drumroll please) Wing/date night. OMFG, can life get better than a carnivorous, beer fueled feeding frenzy, followed by seven minutes of blissful passion? I don’t think so.
Thanks for being here for me,