After all of the fittings are over, the girls take Gavin up to the shop so they can help Claire with some last minute orders, and Drew and Jim decide to stick around our place until they are done. Somehow the topic of my proposal to Claire is brought up and after rehashing the debacle from the Indians game, we all need copious amounts of liquor.
Since Drew’s proposal during a ball game idea has gone straight to the shitter, Jim decides it is his turn to try and make this thing work.
“WHY IS THERE A DR. SEUSS CONTACT IN MY CELL PHONE?” Drew yells from his spot sitting Indian-style in the middle of our kitchen table.
“You need candles and you need a violin and you need your shoes shined and a guy in a tux with a white towel thing over his arm and OOHHHH! You need a piano. Chicks dig a guy that can play piano. Can you play the piano, Carter?” Jim asks, finding his way back up to the couch and sprawling across the cushions, kicking me repeatedly in the process.
“Yes! I can play the piano!” I shout.
Why am I shouting?
“I’m not talking about your little Casio keyboard where all you have to do is press the “demo” button and then pretend you’re really a piano prodigy,” Jim says with a roll of his eyes.
“Whatever, asshole. I can fake-play the SHIT out of “Cherish the Love” by Kool and the Gang. You don’t even know. You DON’T. EVEN. KNOW.”
I rest my head on the back of the couch and stare up at the ceiling wondering why it's moving.
Ceilings shouldn’t move, should they? If ceilings moved, floors would be moving. We’d never be still like broccoli. We’d constantly be moving like in a funhouse. Funhouses are creepy. Funhouses have clowns. Clowns are always moving because they’re out to get you and eat your face while you sleep. I wonder if a moving ceiling could kill a clown.
“I DON’T EVEN FUCKING LIKE GREEN EGGS!” Drew shouts from the kitchen, still staring at his phone in anger.
“On my keyboard I used to know how to play “London Bridge is Falling Down” and “Chop Suey”.
Heh heh. I said Chop Suey when I meant Chopsticks.
“Chop sueeeeeeeeey, chop sueeeeeeeeey!” I sing.
“London Bridge is a SWEET song! Wait, I know! You should take her to Paris and propose. That’s where London Bridge is, right?” Jim asks, grabbing the bottle of tequila off of the coffee table and taking a swig.
“I don’t know. Carmela went to Paris and was all depressed and shit. I don’t want Claire to be depressed when I propose.”
Jim stared at me blankly.
“Who the fuck is this Carmela person? Are you cheating on Claire? I will FUCK YOU UP!” Jim yells.
“Dude, simmer down. Carmela Soprano. Remember? Tony sent her to Paris with her friend Ro so she could ‘find herself’. It really was a beautiful gesture on his part since he was banging the Russian chick with one leg,” I state.
“Hey, fuck face. You know these people only live in your television, right? THEY. AREN’T. REAL,” Jim argues.
“Take it back,” I whisper menacingly. “Take it back right now.”
“FUCK YOU, SAM I AM!” Drew screams at his phone, holding it up in front of his face.
“And anyway, I think they moved London Bridge. It’s in Arizona or some shit like that now,” I explain as I took the bottle back from him and rest it on my thigh.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?” Jim yells right in my ear. “London Bridge is in Arizona? When the fuck did this happen? Does London know about this? The queen has got to be pissed.”
“It was on ‘Real Housewives’ so you know it’s true,” I state.
“Orange County or Atlanta?” Jim asks.
“Orange County, what the fuck is wrong with you? Does anyone even watch Atlanta?” I argue.
“YOU AND YOUR STUPID RED AND WHITE STRIPED HAT! FUCKING CATS DON’T WEAR HATS!” Drew screams in frustration before throwing his phone against the wall.
What the hell are we even talking about? I feel like I’m going to puke. And why the fuck is Drew meowing in the kitchen? Do we have a cat? Oh fuck, did I forget to feed a cat? Claire’s going to kill me if I murdered her cat.
The last thing I remember before passing out is Jim telling me in a moment of drunken brilliance that Claire would marry me if I fed her lobster and that we should call the queen and ask her if her she would trade us some Grey Poupon for the bridge she doesn’t know she lost.
9. No Nut Shots Before Lunch
The muffled vibrations of my cell phone from its spot under my pillow forces my eyes open. I blink the sleep out of them, pull my ear plugs out of each ear, and slide my hand under my pillow to answer the phone.
“Jesus, Claire. What the hell is that noise? It sounds like a monster. Is there a monster in your house?”
I chuckle at Jenny’s question and roll over onto my back and look over at Carter who's fast asleep next to me.
“No, there isn’t a monster in my house,” I whisper. “That growling snort you hear is Carter snoring.”