Claire snorts and shakes her head. “What a tool that guy is. How cheesy can you be? Proposing at a baseball game in front of tens of thousands of strangers and putting it up on the scoreboard? That’s got to be the most clichéd thing ever.
“REALLY ORIGINAL THERE, MORON!” she yells as everyone around us claps and cheers when the woman on the screen nods her head up and down emphatically and the pair embrace.
Oh sweet Jesus. Sweet mother fucking fuckery of fucks.
I am going to win the 'Tool of the Year' award if my proposal shows up on that screen in the next five minutes like it’s scheduled to. I don’t even know if there is a 'Tool of the Year' award. There must be. It’s probably a huge, gold penis trophy with an arrow pointing to it that reads, “This is you! A giant dick! Congratulations.” There’s probably even a 'Tool of the Year' book they print every year like that 'Darwin Awards' book that really has nothing to do with winning an esteemed award and everything to do with the fact that people are pointing and laughing because you died from trying to slow dance with an ostrich that would rather peck out your eyes than learn the Cha Cha.
Claire is going to peck out my eyes if I propose to her right now!
“Carter, are you okay? You look like you’re going to throw up. I told you no one should ever eat more than six hotdogs. That’s just asking for pig snout disease or whatever the hell they make those things out of,” Claire scolds as she looked me over worriedly.
“I ate a pig snout?!” Gavin asks elatedly. “What’s a pig snout?
Claire turns to the other side of her to try and explain to Gavin that hotdogs are, in fact, not made out of dogs, and I take that moment to jump up from my seat, mumbling something about throwing up before I race up the stairs to the concierge desk to cancel my Cleveland Indian’s Proposal Package before I die a slow, horrible eye-pecking death.
4. He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
“I think he’s going to break up with me.”
Liz’s sigh through the phone line is loud and clear. I know she's irritated with me. I am irritated with me. It's getting to the point where I can’t even stand the sound of my own voice and yet I can’t shut up about this.
“He’s been acting really weird ever since the Indian’s game last week,” I explain as I pull my car into the driveway and let the engine idle.
“Carter isn’t going to break up with you. Will you shut up about this already? Maybe he’s just stressed about work or the fact that his parents are finally coming for a visit. Did you try out that move on him I told you about the other night? The one where you take your fingers and put them in his-”
“LA-LA-LA, I’M NOT LISTENING TO YOU!” I yell over her voice and try to block out the words “prostate” and “gentle massage”.
“Fine, but I’m telling you – it will totally relax him,” she says matter-of-factly.
I turn off the ignition and rested my head against the steering wheel.
“Have you tried, oh I don’t know, asking him what’s wrong?” Liz continues.
“You’re rolling your eyes at me right now, aren’t you?” I reply. “No, I haven’t asked him. I’ve done what every other woman in a new relationship does when her boyfriend is acting all twitchy and nervous. I completely ignore the situation and pretend like it isn’t happening while making a list of possible responses and comebacks I can lob at him when he finally decides to give me the brush-off. I am NOT going to be one of those people who clam up when he tells me, ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ and then six hours later when I’m sitting alone in the dark with a bottle of vodka scream, ‘OH IT’S TOTALLY YOU AND YOUR SMALL PENIS!’. I’m going to have viable retorts ready to go so I don’t come up with them later when I’m drunk and alone, and they do no one any good.”
I sit back in my seat and stare at the front door of the house I now live in with Carter. The white, three bedroom ranch with black shutters is nestled in a lush cluster of pine trees. I love this house. But more importantly, I love the two men inside of it. My heart literally hurts to think about not being with Carter.
“Carter doesn’t have a small penis, by the way,” I say, breaking the silence.
“So you’ve told me. Several times,” Liz deadpans.
“I’m sorry I keep bugging you about this.”
“Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for. Just talk to him about it. You can thank me for my sage advice by remembering that, as my maid of honor, you are required to keep any and all passé bachelorette party activities as far away from me as possible this weekend,” Liz reminds me.
Liz and Jim’s wedding date is fast approaching. Being as far removed from a typical bride as possible, Liz had vetoed a traditional bachelorette party and instead decided it would just be one big co-ed night out. Maybe that’s what Carter and I need - a night out with friends without any work or parenting responsibilities. I thank Liz again and quickly hang up the phone so I can go in the house and greet my boys.
~
“I’m home!” I yell as I close the front door behind me and set my purse down on the table next to it.