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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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June / July 2006 Contest Results |
When The
Mice Are Away
By
Joel Schwartzberg, New Jersey
This week, my
wife and three kids made the six-hour trek to her parents’ house in
Martha’s Vineyard. It’s a glorious annual event for them, having fun,
eating ice cream, and riding the island’s famous carousel -- a vacation
offer too good to refuse.
But this
story is not about them; it’s about me, Mr. Vacation Day Miser, staying
home all alone in our now enormous-seeming house. It’s about what
happens to mankind when he’s left too long without woman-kind and
family-kind.
My dutiful wife left me a very manageable to-do list, which includes
things like lawn-mowing, plant-watering, and picking up toys and clothes
around the house.
Bonus
points for doing at least two loads of laundry. Not that much for half
of Saturday, a whole Sunday, and a week’s worth of free evenings, right?
It started poorly. Overcome with sudden and shocking liberty, I bought
myself a chocolate-with-sprinkles ice-cream cone no less than half an
hour after waving them goodbye.
I walked down
the street slowly, licking it down with great care as I thought about
the thirsty plants on my back deck. Plenty of time for that, I thought.
I made a plan to order my favorite pizza that night.
Next stop: my local video store, where the heavily-tattoed clerk helped
me collect roughly six year’s worth of unseen horror DVDs. I’m the only
horror fan in the family, unless you count Barney the Dinosaur as truly
frightening, which I do.
Two steps into my house, I quickly noticed the piled-up cereal dishes in
the sink, their soggy flakes and O’s now hardening against the ceramic
bottom. I’ll brillo that later, I thought.
I went to the computer, checked my email, looked for jobs for my
friends, played a few of my son’s games, re-checked my email, and
scoured the iTunes store.
When I found
myself sampling American Idol singers, I knew it was time to log off. I
opened my own music folder and cranked it louder than my computer’s
speakers were comfortable playing.
It was getting dark now, so, stepping over some toys littering the
dining room floor, I reached for the pizza place menu. But the stack of
DVDs was right next to it, and the top film -– one of those sadistic,
crazy, hacking body parts movies that everyone seems to enjoy nowadays –-
seemed to be calling out to me.
What the
heck, I thought, I’ll watch that one, then do dinner.
About four hours later, I was lounging on the couch watching a different
movie’s special bonus features when I realized the pizza place had
closed. I trudged into the kitchen, ate some of my kids’ cereal and one
of their cookies, then threw a frozen pizza into the oven.
Hunger is
a motivator. I ate it while watching the last of the movies, then
crawled up to bed. My last thought before succumbing to sleep: Where did
my other sock go?
When I woke up around 10:30 am on Sunday morning, I felt different,
motivated. I knew what I HAD to do: Check my email again.
I then searched the weather forecast online. Maybe rain would save me a
watering job? YESSSSSS! Now filled with an undeserved sense of vicarious
accomplishment, I rewarded myself with the longest, hottest, most
indulgent shower in years.
As I was Q-tipping my ears, the phone rang. I froze. After finding the
receiver underneath an open bag of cashews, I told my wife all was right
with the world and I was making good progress. And it’s true. I did see
all of those DVDs after all, though I fast-forwarded through the Paris
Hilton one.
At 2:00 Sunday afternoon, still in my pajamas, I contemplated the stack
of unopened mail sitting on the dining room table between a dirty Q-tip
and that missing sock. Maybe I won something. Maybe there’s a check in
there. Maybe one of the Valu-Pak coupons will enlighten me as to what
I’m eating tonight. When I found myself reading a town council campaign
flyer intensely, I knew I’d hit rock bottom.
What I really need is a 12-step program and an emergency-call buddy,
someone to ring up and say, ""I’m home alone and losing control! Help
me, please!"" But there’s no buddy out there. Just me, a big mess, and
the dwindling remains of the day. Which reminds me, did I have lunch
yet?
I realize that sooner or later, I’m going to have to get something done
around here. It’ll be a challenge, but now I’m up for it. Barely. And if
responsibility fails as a motivator, I’ll just refer to the to-do list
my wife spent more time creating than I’ve even begun to spend
fulfilling. When responsibility fails as a self-motivator, there’s
always guilt.
Families take note when leaving a man home alone: We probably need to be
eased into such things.
http://www.jesttokill.com
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