When I got home last Friday evening, all pumped up with excitement for the long Labor Day weekend, Wifey was sitting on the couch – crying hysterically – with an ice pack on her head. I couldn’t help but get the feeling that I had done something terribly wrong.
“Oh my God! Baby, are you ok??”
“I’m fine,” she snapped.
“What did I do??? Are you mad at me?”
“No.” she replied (unconvincingly). “You didn’t do anything. I’m just fucking huge and it’s TOO DAMN HOT!!”
“What can I do to make you feel better? Should we go to dinner somewhere air conditioned? Do you want to go to the movies?”
“Nothing. I don’t even want to move. Just leave me alone.”
I vacillated for a second then did what any dude would do: popped open a beer and sat down on the deck to enjoy the late summer evening. Incidentally, it was much cooler out there than on the corner of couch from whence Wifey refused to budge.
I gave it an hour or so, leaving her to her misery, then quietly prepared dinner and set the outdoor table. Cautiously, I approached the pregnant woman.
“My lady, might I have the pleasure of dining with you tonight?”
She eventually joined me outside, and after the food, wine, and cool(er) nighttime temperatures had begun to take effect, I broke out the heavy ammo:
“Hey, how about we take a little stroll and have some ice cream?” Just like that, the temperature dropped another 10 degrees.
Guys, I’ve gotta tell you – if you’re thinking about knocking your lady up before summer comes, invest in air conditioning. Then again, if that’s too much for you, can always fall back on ice cream.