The routine will be similar, except now he has to watch the clock, and if she calls he is bound by marriage to answer the phone. If she wants him home immediately, if not sooner, he gets on his horse and rides out.
The vows are completed, the dancing and celebrating, and the honeymoon is over. The boy (The macaroni man) is now a man, and like all of us married men, has surrendered his manhood to doing the dishes and cleaning up! So, he seeks a heaven from the chores and duty of marriage, and returns once again, to torturing himself by watching the Mets and Jets with another tortured individual, me!
But while he is watching the game, we will commiserate as to why they stink (Take your pick) and why they should all be fired and shipped out to the minors or a semi-pro team. Before the game even starts, the sense of doom will prevail, with tears at the cusps of our eyelids.
TLW (The Little Woman) will shake her head in wonderment that two grown men would follow such losers, and the old guy in particular should know by now! The lives we have ruined are not only our own, but our offspring, and future generations to come.
Therapy is an option, but we keep hoping against hope, that things will someday turn around, that there will be interest in October, because the Mets are in the playoffs, and the Jets are winning, not losing already.
TLW has counted all my medications, knows how many pills should be in the bottle at a certain date, and if any are missing, that I am attempting to kill myself with over dosage!
But he will have dinner with us, cry with me, and so it will go for another year.
J-E-T-S suck suck suck!
Let’s go Mets, far away already!