Yesterday was a good one.
I hitched up with Maggie’s Boyfriend Bob for a trip out west. Something we both decided to call a “Re-con” trip, but it was one of those routinious interruptus affairs as much as anything, the sort of thing Men of the New Millennia do once in a while to get back to their Alpha woofishness.
The purpose was simple. We wanted to check out a town and area some 2 hours from Swampville, a place where the land is cheaper and the opportunities large. It was healthy for both of us in that way. I want to move to the woods, he wants to just move. Seemed like the fitting thing to do, while leaving the wimmen behind to do whatever it is wimmen do on such occasions.
We commandeered Ally’s car and hoofed west at a reasonably rapid pace. Stalked the downtown area of a very nice town with an awesome fishing lake, intimidated a real estate agent, drove all over hells half acre and invaded the local pizza joint. I dunno about you, but there’s no place I’d rather go to survey a new town than the local pizza joint, whether it’s to troll for information or to charm the waitress into big city tip service, we’re both fairly expert at both as it turns out.
It’s very possible that this area will prove to be the new nesting joint. It was a damned informative trip because we made it so. Stay tuned.
I like Bob. He’s older than Maggie by a few years (although not to the point of alarm, mind you), which is probably necessary because my Middlest one looks 15 and acts 47 on any given day. She needs a guy who can discourse routinely on local politics and paint thinner. Somebody who can listen and soothe, then fix the washing machine.
Men of the New Millennia can do that stuff. Then they can get together for a road trip and sing songs and tell wildly off-color stories and fart and swill beer. It isn’t all for appearance sake that we are sensitive to the women in our lives. There’s sensitivity, sure. But there’s also that little reserve that keeps us from going headlong into flower sales or interior design, too. That’s the difference. And Bob gets it. I suspect he was plenty ready to make sure I knew that, and it is a refreshing thing to talk to another male in polysyllabic fashion and feel pretty confident that he can respond in kind.
And didn’t we both just coo, very sensitively, when we got back at supper time to find Maggie and Ally at the house after Maggie’s first ultrasound? She’s ten weeks gone folks, and weighs a whopping 97 pounds.
I know. Feel free to vent, ladies. But the newest Outfoxed is a kickin’ and a jumpin’.
And we had pizza delivered, watched old some Andy Griffith Show episodes, talked about fishing and renovating houses and babies.
It was a damn fine day all around.
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