I recently took some time off for a ‘staycation’. A staycation is when you take a week off from work, don’t have money to go on a real vacation and stay home. I think some poor schmuck came up with term in order to convince his nagging wife that these uneventful breaks were common. Ironically and thanks to a weakening economy, these fellow under achievers actually proved to be right as staycations are indeed becoming increasingly popular. I must say, away from not worrying about losing my luggage, the constant tipping and getting too much nice warm sun on some beautiful tropical island, I felt like a complete loser not doing anything with my time off. However, I did manage to catch a glimpse into the inner workings of my home.
Normally when I call my house from work it sounds like Grand Central Station at code red. It sounds busier than it does at 9:30 on the trading desk. I couldn’t wait to see first hand the horror that takes place when I’m not around, the agonizing stress she endures every day and just how rotten my kids really are.
Here’s what I witnessed: My kids wake up on their own, get out of bed, come in and wake my wife up to remind her that they have school. Miraculously this is the first time that’s ever happened – usually she has to fight with them to get them out of bed (yeah right). Wifey then trudges down the stairs to make a nice healthy balanced breakfast for the kiddies. Thank God for Eggo waffles. They pour themselves some milk, slap on some clothes and the bus picks them up right in front of the house. I’m not talking down the block or on the corner – I’m talking right outside the fucking house at the end of my driveway. The woman doesn’t even have to leave the house to get them off to school.
Later it was time for the Starbucks run. As we walked in, I couldn’t help but find it strange that everyone there knows my wife. All the girls (plural) behind the counter greet my wife by name and she doesn’t even have to order. They’re on a first name basis? After she pays for her Grande Lazy Slothaccino the girls ask if she’s coming back later. Coming back later?? What the fuck! Then I asked what she usually does after this and she rambled on incoherently for ten minutes… babbling something about running errands – I’m not really sure, I tuned her out. Wouldn’t you know it, as it turned out – today was that once in a blue moon day where she had nothing to do.
Despite the fact there wasn’t a stitch of food in the house, we drove past three supermarkets within 2 miles and there was no mention of needing to pick anything up. She actually sped up checking the rearview mirror to make sure they were good and gone. I thought for a minute she was getting pulled over. You see, traditionally that job is saved for me when I get off the train. It’s truly amazing how every single day there’s something we just ran out of and need that night. “I need you to stop and pick up this, that and the other thing.” I figured it out… Why make one big trip to the supermarket every two weeks and deal with all those bulky grocery bags, when you have me, your own little fucking personal raccoon shopper, to send foraging on my way home from work everyday. On a side note, I’m thing of buying a cow since my kids drink twice their body weight in milk every day.
Basically the rest of the day consisted of stopping at a few more bullshit stores, buying more useless shit to stuff into my already over crowded closets and get home before the little angels get home.
This is when several hours of quality family TV time begins. Thank goodness for the housewife god who answered their prayers and created the DVR. That thing is the best thing ever invented. The Digital Video Recorder is the salvation for all stay-at–home moms. God forbid they read them a book or pick up a fucking flash card to better the children. Why do that when you can park them on the couch, throw a bag of Doritos in their lap and experience a four hour uninterrupted SpongeBob-a-thon. And fuck the guy who created those obnoxious little Tele-fuckin-tubbies.
Now I don’t want to get that crazy Fairfield Wife bitch after me, but I do think it’s pretty good life that the little Mrs. Is leading. I could do that every day. I’m sure some hectic stuff gets thrown into the mix on occasion, but for the most part I can deal with it. No more commuting, no more Gucci loafer wearing douche bags and no more navy blue fucking sport jackets. I believe I would make a great Mr. Mom but pray the recent macro events engulfing our cherished financial world never forces me into that role.
-The Duke
