Friday night with the Geezers

geezer (gee-zer) n. 1. any old person in front of you on the Beltway driving at 25 mph 2. your grandparents

Oh wait, words change meaning over time…

geezer (gee-zer) n. 1. any person a generation older than you who cannot or will not keep pace with your frantic lifestyle, changing technology, or morphing vocabulary 2. your parents

And time marches on…

geezer (gee-zer) n. 1. a person whose lifetime capacity for stress has been depleted by working full-time, raising children, commuting, and keeping up with an ever-rapidly changing environment while keeping one’s mouth shut because what he/she really thinks would incinerate all by-standers 2. you

It was quite a week…for a geezer.  Not only was it the first full non-snowing week in forever, not only did I have to teach all four preps every single day, but the days were filled with non-prep activities: staffing placement for next year, curriculum development for next year, parental/administrative conflict on a departmental level, massive numbers of emails that required actual reading, thought, and response ASAP.

Meanwhile, the Jeep suffered a bent tie-rod while being towed out of too-deep snow which required John to rent a car (as in, I made him rent a car because I had no intentions of car-pooling with him all week to my job 30 miles away with his random schedule that would have left me stranded at school until who-knows-when).  John spent a busy week (and many miles) being a good IBM-er and making the planet a better place–or at least saving PNC and TSA.  Considering that their data centers represent the U.S. money supply and transportation security, we can all sleep better knowing John is an IBM-er. 

Friday night, therefore, could not come soon enough.  I did my usual stop at Wegmans on my way home, with my joints aching like crazy from the extended cold spell we’ve been having.  It was all I could do to drag the groceries into the house.

So we had our Friday repast: shrimp with cocktail sauce, fresh peppers, French cheese with rosemary bread.  John, of course, can’t sit at the table too long because his circulation can’t quite handle gravity anymore, so he had to go lie on the sofa.  After two glasses of wine I, too, was a little weary of gravity and aimed for a sofa.

I barely remember getting on the sofa, let alone falling asleep.  It happened that fast.  Instant sleep and instant snoring.  It was the snoring that caused John to look over and see me comatose with wine glass in hand.  He took the glass from me and set it on the coffee table.  I was clueless. 

John put on a movie.  Very softly so as not to disturb me. ( You might think this would be a perfect time to put on Clint or Arnold or Mel–I can’t stand Mad Max movies– but no, he decided to watch The Proposal–classic chick  flic.)  The more he got into the movie (tears spilling down his cheeks), the louder the snoring got.  He inched up the volume more and more and more.  Finally, the movie ended, the credits were rolling, and the volume was enough to wake the dead.

And it did.  First thing I said was:  “It’s too loud!  Turn it down!”

Of course, my two hour nap meant that I had to read for about that long before falling asleep–in bed, with the light on, and earplugs in to block out the snortling coming from John beside me.

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