Saturday morning, as I blurrily drank my eighty-niner cup of coffee while trying desperately to wake my sorry ass up, Dave bounded into the room and announced, “YOU’RE TAKING ME OUT TO LUNCH TOMORROW.”
For someone who is normally soft-spoken, he was BEYOND loud. Or perhaps it was merely a loud morning. I’m SO not a morning person.
I tried to reach the dusty recesses of my brain to ascertain why, exactly, I was supposed to be taking The Daver out to lunch. His birthday? Our anniversary? National Pancake Day?
I bit the bullet. “Why?” I groggily spat out.
“IT’S DAVE DAY! ALL DAVE’S EAT FREE AT FAMOUS DAVE’S!”
I stuck my fingers in my ears to deaden the noise a bit. Since he did say FREE, and FREE is always better than paying, I wondered if I, too, could pass for a Dave.
The following morning, I peeled myself out of bed, completely forgetting that it was Dave Day (HOW did that ever slip my non-Daveish mind?). Downstairs, the kids were dressed, fed and ready to go for the first time, well, EVER.
Dave was practically bounding off the walls with glee. “IT’S DAVE DAY!” he announced, loudly enough that I nearly punched him in the throat, just to make him shut the fuck up. “WE’RE OUT OF COFFEE!” he screamed. “I DRANK IT ALL.”
Like that was a surprise or something. I mumbled, “fucker” under my breath as I hoped he wouldn’t stroke out from the excitement.
Once I swept the cobwebs from my brain and cleared the sleep from my eyes, I finally looked at The Daver. Dressed in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt, I must’ve given him a look, because he said, “I’M WEARIN MAH EATIN’ CLOTHES.”
I’m not exactly certain when his Wisconsin-bred ass developed a Southern Drawl, but it was apparently the moment in which he realized he could eat as much BBQ as he wanted. For free. I’m sort of surprised he didn’t bust out my maternity clothes for the occasion.
I shoved a baseball cap on, so that I would be incognito with the hickish Southern Wisconsinite and off we went.
First thing they said when we walked in, “Is your name Dave?” Daver proudly bust out his wallet and showed off his driver’s license. He looks like the leader of the Aryan Nation in the picture, which made me wonder if they’d BELIEVE he was the same person.
Not only did they believe him, they also gave him a name-tag. I was SO JEALOUS. I love name-tags. I would have written “Shut Your Whore Mouth” on mine. I tried to score one from them, but was rebuffed because I am not ACTUALLY named Dave.
I sat jealously staring at Dave’s name-tag as everyone who walked by – also wearing Dave name-tags – said hello to Dave. A sea of name-tag wearing Dave’s sat in the dining room, each beaming as happily as The Daver was.
When Daver opened the menu, it was like the heavens poured out of his eyeballs, as he saw the amount of BBQ he could eat. For FREE. All for free. He happily chose some BBQ platter or another while I sipped my Diet Pepsi, amazed by the transformation of my normally geeky husband into a greedy BBQ-loving hick.
“I want ‘yer BBQ platter wif a side ‘o’ beans and cornbread.” I swear I’ve never heard him speak that way. But there he was, eating pants and everything, ready to take on the BBQ.
And he did. I’ve never seen such a small man put away so much food. When he was done sucking the marrow from the bones, he sat back, belched, and looked as contented as one can while wearing a stained tank-top and sweatpants.
I paid our check and rolled him contentedly out to the car.
He was in a food coma the rest of the day while I bitterly blamed my parents for not being forward-thinking enough to name me Dave.
Hey, Johnny Cash had a Boy Named Sue, I could totally have been a Girl Named Dave*.
*had I been a boy, my name would have been Leaf**.
**No, I’m not joking. Not even close.
Um. This is an ancient post. I have no idea why it posted here now. THERE’S A GHOST IN THE MACHINE.
I’m not the sort of person who’d been planning her wedding since the day I could walk. In fact, I always thought that the word ‘wife’ had a nasty sort of ring to it. My family also has also had zero interest in planning my potential wedding. In fact, they have threatened to show up to my hypothetical wedding wearing mascot heads and do ‘The Wave’ in the church. I am not and have never been mush-mush OR romantic in any way shape or form. That said, I must disclose a list of things that I believed would make my wedding ‘cool.’
First off, I wanted to dance myself down the aisle at the church to K.C. and the Sunshine Band’s ‘That’s the Way, Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh, I Like It.’ What better way to approach the man I’ll be spending the rest of my life with? EVERYBODY loves disco.
In addition to this, I was convinced that the man who would marry me would be a certified Elvis impersonator. I would be married by The King, lip snarl, rockin’ pelvis and all.
Now lastly on my list of hilarious things for my wedding, I planned to have my first dance be extra memorable. I would have the D.J. cue up the beginning of a romantic and dramatic song, I’d meet my husband on the dance floor” and the sweet music would screech to a halt as the Y.M.C.A. would come blasting out. Yes, folks, that’s right, my first wedding song would be the Y.M.C.A.
Now everybody who I have mentioned this to has given me the most horrific look. ‘Aunt Becky, weddings are supposed to be SERIOUS.’ I can’t say that I’ve ever seen it from their point of view.
Dave thinks that I’m insane.
Just wait until he sees the ice cream machine I bought for the reception.
Exhibit A – Nice divorced guy, friendly terms with his ex. My age. No apparent mental disorders (other than his last choice of girlfriends). Grown kids. Steady job that he’s been at for years in his chosen career field, doesn’t make a lot of money but it has nice perks. Thinks I’m gorgeous even though he’s seen me in a swimsuit.
Exhibit B – Nice guy. 23 years younger than I am. Single dad of a 18 month old daughter, baby momma is slightly psycho. Excellent work ethic with a good job. On probation for possession. Suffers from depression, anxiety disorder & panic attacks, OCD, bipolar disorder, probable borderline alcoholic. Thinks I’m sexy beyond description even though he’s seen me in flower-print cotton granny panties. Did I mention 23 f’in years younger than I am?
Guess which one I’m dating? Yeah. Exhibit B.
My question, you ask?
Why am I not making the logical, practical choice here?
A is a nice guy and a good friend…so is B. Both say I’m special and treat me like I am (and not the creepy ‘you can’t function without me’ sort of special).
But B makes me weak in the knees. Even better, we can sit in the same room and talk for hours, or not talk and all, and it’s still good.
So, WTF is wrong with me? IS there something wrong with me?
Well, I WOULD like to know a little bit about you for our files.
Sorry, couldn’t resist, Prankster. So, I’ve got a little bit to say about it, and I’m sure the other Pranksters will, too.
But it sounds like (I cannot believe I am about to type these words) you’re following your heart. And, in my opinion, that’s seldom a bad thing. Love is messy. It’s confusing. It’s fucked up. It has you do things like hitchhike across the country with a knapsack on your shoulder to be with The One, because that’s what you do when you’ve found The One.
Certainly practical Man A would be, well, practical. But life isn’t practical. And practical people are often dull as toast (says the woman who owns 800 Coach purses because you never know when you’re going to need another kicky purse).
I’d say, follow that heart of yours and remember that love isn’t a practical thing you can put in a box, quantify, and file away for later. It just is.
I wish you the best, Prankster.
Here’s to YOU, Mrs. Robinson!
Dear Aunt Becky,
After 3 years of back-to-back shittastic relationships, I’m single for the first time. It’s great and fine and dandy. I’ve gone on dates with multiple guys and had fun with each of them. I’ve told them that I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now since I’ve been doing that for so long and only ended up getting hurt.
So ANYWAY. I recently went out with a former co-worker for drinks. We both had a great time, got flirtatious, but nothing happened. On Saturday he asked me to come over to his place to hang out. Once again, we had a great time.
This time, I put out. I usually don’t give it out to anybody, but I’ve known this guy for three years.
So now this is my problem: I like him, but there’s an age gap. He’s 39 and I’m 21. He has 3 sons who are 15 years old. How do I make these stupid feelings for him go away? It’s been established that we have a good time when we hang out, so can I keep dating him but leave those stupid feelings out of it?
Please help a poor girl out!
As it turns out, you probably can’t. Leave your feelings out of it, I mean. Since I’ve been doing work with these things called “feelings” myself, I’ve learned that they’re kinda tricky shit.
So I suggest that you sit down and be honest – really honest – with yourself. How will you feel if it turns out you were a booty call? Can you handle dating a guy with kids? Will you be okay if this truly becomes a casual dating thing and not True Love?
Once you know the answer to these, you’re off to a better start. But until then, I’ve recently learned these feeler-thingies can’t be turned off.
Good luck, Prankster.
Hi Aunt Becky!
I was wondering if you and you kick-ass Band of Merry Pranksters could help me out.
I recently made a new friend who is going through a tough time. She recently went through a divorce to a man who isn’t worth the shit in my toilet. He cheated on her and left her for a woman who was over ten years younger with more children.
It’s just her and her child now and she’s completely heartbroken and devastated. I’m happily married so it’s hard for me to relate. I think she’s a great person and we really get along well, but I don’t know what I can say or do to go above just being a good friend and listener.
What else can I say to get her going on the right track?
Thank you so much for your help!
All right Pranksters, Your Aunt Becky needs your help with this (and the other two).
I don’t think there’s much you can do to ease her pain, besides letting her talk (and listen like a true friend) and being there for her when she needs you. It’s clear she’s devastated and needs someone to be a friend.
I’d suggest staying away from platitudes and advice, because I know how infuriating it is to hear advice when you’re really just looking to be comforted. There’s nothing you can do to take away her pain – unfortunately – and sometimes the best thing you can do is to be A Friend. Bring her meals, take her out sometimes (DO NOT TRY TO FIX HER UP WITH SOMEONE), arrange for help with the kid.
Because the betrayal of being cheated on, then left to be a single parent is something that only gets better over time. And I cannot imagine how gutted she must be at the moment.
I wish you luck and I’m sending her love and light.
Pranksters? Any advice? What should these (lovely, talented and drop-dead gorgeous) people do?