A Date, The Duke and Some Doobies

I really love my castle.  Unless I'm headed to the islands, Vegas, or to see Kenny Chesney, it damn near takes an act of congress to get me farther from this castle than the grocery store.

It took a long time to perfect my digs, but now, this castle is exactly the way I want it.  Well, except that my 2 youngest children still live here and will, most likely, have to be physically removed in order to force them into their own damn lives, but that's a whole other story for another time.

After 16 years together, The Duke knows that if he wants me to do things with him, he can't tell me until the last minute because,

 A.  I'm more of a spur of the minute girl.  I HATE plans, as they rarely work out the way I had planned, and that pisses me off.
and
B.  If he tells me in advance, I will come up with something or some reason, as to why I can't go.

Yesterday morning, as The Duke was leaving for work, he says, "Don't forget we have a concert date tonight.  Be ready to go at 6:30."  Being the ass crack of dawn, I sleepily groan, mhmmm, and roll back over, sinking blissfully back into sleepy town.

When The Duke called later in the day, reminding me of our date, I was all, "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout Dukey?!" (10 points of you know the 70's TV show that line came from).   He says, "I told you we were going to the casino tonight because the Doobie Brothers are playing at the in-house theatre."

I was not happy.  I just wanted to stay in my pajamas all day eating brownies, watching bad TV and playing Odd Socks (damn you, Queen!).

I hate the casino.  Instead of giving my money to the Indians, because that is who owns the casino, I'd rather spend my money on things I can taste, feel, smoke or hold on too.

I started with, "aw fuck.  I feel like shit today..., Prince charming was a handful and wore me out..., I need to shave my legs..., Hells kitchen is on tonight..., I need to...."  He pulled out the big guns and said, "Um, since I am taking you and Mother Dutchess to the islands next week, you're not getting out of this." After a lot of groaning, swearing, eye rolling, and shoving my fat ass into a pair of spanx, I was reluctantly, ready to go, but in a really pissy mood.

On our way out of the door, my heel caught on the step, propelling my forward.  Yep!  Down I went, in some kind of awesome cheerleader splits move, while skidding across the cement.  I sat there, stunned for a moment, and then realized that somehow, I landed on my shoe.  One heel was in a very uncomfortable position.

Duke asks if I'm OK.  I tell him I think so, but I may have broken my vagina.  He rolled his eyes, sighed, and picked me up off the ground.  As helped me into the truck, he looked at me said, "Good try, Dutch, but a broken vagina doesn't count.  Unless you have the fucking black plague, you are going to this concert with me!"

This, for some reason, made me laugh my ass off.  My pissy mood was over, and, with many drinks, my vagina felt better too.  We went on to have a great time at the Doobie Brothers concert last night, and I won 200 bucks on a penny slot machine.

Well played Duke, well played.

Until next time~~
xoxo