I should've known better.
I tried to be a supportive wife. A "cool" wife. A good wife.
And where did that get me?
Standing out in the cold. With no coat. No gloves. No husband.
He'd left me.
In the cold. With no coat. No gloves. Nothing.
Why? Why was I being subjected to the dwindling temperatures and the exposure to mild hypothermia?
Because - the Nintendo "Wii" was being released - the next day!
Oh, bestill my Koopa Trooper steeled heart! (snort!)
Okay - I will admit to thinking the darn thing looked cool - but standing in the cold for twelve hours to relive the glory days of Nintendo - did not.
When Harry arrives at 10 PM and starts wrapping me in coats, hoods, gloves, blankets and other hypothermia protective gear - I'm relatively okay.
I make it until 12:30AM - the parking lot is dark and the ten or so of us huddled in the front of the red-glowing store. I'm on my third episode of "Scrubs" and even though I'm a HUGE Zach Braff fan - not even his fantasy cut scenes could keep the bitter cold from slicing through my jeans and making me shiver like a non-caffei caffeine addict.
So I left.
I'm home for forty-five minutes when my cell breaks into my fitful dreams.
"Uhm, hello?" I say. The room is spinning - that can't be good.
"Hey, can you come get me? I'm going to go get hand warmers for everyone - they'll hold my place in line." It was two in the morning and Harry sounded chipper. He was lucky he was on the other end of the phone...
"Yeah, yeah. Now?" I stupidly ask.
"Uh -yeah. Nowish would be good. And can you grab me an umbrella and another pair of sweatpants?"
"Yeah, yeah... What? An umbrella and what?" My stomach is turning and the drool is still wet on my cheek. I'm too tired to understand simple orders.
"Sweat-pants," Harry says slowly.
"Sweatpants? Why?" I'm not making any sense. And I know I'm not making any sense - yet I ask - or stall for time...
"To wear..." He's ready to kill me. I know this. And with good cause. I mean, what else would he be doing with sweatpants while standing out in frigid temperatures? Using them as a hat and wrapping the legs around his neck like a scarf?
So I yank myself out of bed - throw on pants (I slept in my bra and shirt) and head out the door.
Hours later, I have a comatose hubby and a brand new "Wii".
But that's not where the fun begins. Later, we open the box and set it up in less than five minutes. He hands me my controller and my "nunchuck."
"What do you want to play?"
I look at him and think of last night - "Boxing" I say quickly.
He stands up and starts flailing the controller around like a two year old in mid-tantrum. I remain seated - and kick his ever-lovin' ass!
JAB! JAB! PUNCH! DODGE! PUNCH COMBO! PUNCH! KO! KO! KO!
I scream like a woman who's just beat-down her much-more dextrous husband and we play again. I win a whole bunches more - Harry sucker punches me and wins one. Whatev.
"Tennis?" he asks.
"Sure," I say, red-faced with sheer exhilaration of the fight.
"Bowling?" he asks, cheeks flushed with indignation at not only being beaten by a girl but by his clumsy, ill-coordinated, sports-phobic wife!
"No - thanks, anyway." I sit down and remove my controller strap.
"C'mooooooonnnnnnn," he whines.
"Okay!" I hop up and bowl like I've never bowled before - with a small white stick.
Well - I don't really want to go into the details - because it's not about who wins (me) or who loses (Harry) - it's about how you play the game.
And about making your huband your bitch.