Unlike some men, I am fortunate that my wife is not a cunt. 99% of the time, this is to my benefit. She doesn't whine about having to watch sports, and in fact enjoys them herself. She doesn't make me eat healthy. When I want to make an impulsive decision, like the time we were at Wal-Mart and I suddenly decided we needed a new 42" HDTV, she doesn't stand as the voice of reason; no, she becomes a cheerleader for the decision, and even points out the looks of envy that all the other men had as I walked out with my new TV.
But like I said, her coolness has a downside. Case in point: This past weekend, my good friend Russ got married in Chicago, and I was a groomsman. On Saturday, the day of the wedding, I cracked my first beer around 12:30. The ceremony was at 6:30, and the reception ended at midnight. By the time the reception ended, I was happily drunk off of beer. If I had gone back to the hotel, grabbed a snack, and slept a solid 8 hours, I would have felt great in the morning. But that did not happen, and I blame my wife.
One of the bridesmaids brought her boyfriend to the wedding. He was a stereotypical Southside Chicagoan of Irish descent. We had talked earlier, and I liked him a lot. After all, I am of Irish descent too. We clearly had a lot in common.
So, after the wedding, some people were still mingling about, and the bar was still open. I was talking to my wife, a friend of mine, and his wife. The Irish guy comes up, puts his arm around me, and says, "Hey, lets go do shots of Jameson!"
My external reaction was, "Okay!". The upside to sticking to beer is that I can still function and know right from wrong, and good ideas from bad. And this was definitely a bad idea. Somewhere, a tiny voice in my head told me that I shouldn't do it. But I have an image to maintain; I couldn't very well decline my new best friend's invitation to do shots. So I looked to my wife. Hopefully, she would validate the lone dissenting voice in my head and allow me to save face. Not so much. When I looked at her to step in and keep me from doing something stupid, she failed miserably. "Go ahead!" she told me. The Irishman, surprised by the lack of cuntiness displayed by my wife, hugged her and said, "You are an awesome wife!"
Postscript: I did the shot, which extinguished the remaining common sense in my head. I then ordered a Jack and Coke with a double shot of Jack to wash it down. And then I did another shot of Jameson. And drank another double Jack and Coke. And then I went home and passed out without eating anything. So when I woke up six hours later to throw up so hard that I broke blood vessels around my eyes, I blamed my wife. When I woke up Monday morning still hungover, I blamed my wife. It's great that she's cool and all, but she needs to learn when to protect me from myself.
