My dad puts a blanket down on the floor for Billy and is sitting next to him making funny faces.
“Gammy, I feel pukey. Your food sucks,” Veronica tells her.
“That’s nice, dear!” my mom replies as she pats her on the head.
“Do you really not feel well, sweetie?” I ask as I lift her up onto my lap and feel her forehead.
“I shoulda never, never ate Gammy’s clam,” Veronica tells me, resting her head on my shoulder.
“There are so many things wrong with that statement,” Drew whispers.
We spend a few more minutes chatting with my parents until Veronica starts crying that her tummy hurts. We pack up the kids and head home, but not before Drew tells my dad to buy low, sell high and to watch his bottom line before the market closes or the risk capital will be higher than the profit sharing.
My dad shakes Drew’s hand and tells him that without him, he and my mom would be broke.
Dew asks me to drive home because all of a sudden he feels funny. I swear sometimes the sickness in our family works through osmouses. You know, where one person is sick and a mouse walks by and gets the sickness and then passes it on to someone else by sitting on their head? Halfway home Drew starts groaning and clutching his stomach.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Oh Jesus, your mom’s clam made me sick,” he mutters.
He moans for a few more seconds until he realizes what he just said and laughs through his pain.
“Your mom’s clam was delicious, but now, your mom’s clam is vicious!” Drew laughs before suddenly bending over and hugging his stomach.
It’s my turn to groan now as I turn onto our street.
“Seriously, stop saying that. It’s freaking me out,” I complain as I pull into the driveway.
“Your mom’s clam was smooth going down, but now I’m regretting swallowing it,” he mutters with a laugh.
“Shut up!” I warn him as I pull into the driveway.
“At least it wasn’t bearded. I’d be choking on curly hairs right now. Your mom’s clam was as clean as a baby’s bottom!”
As soon as I shut off the car and open the door, Drew leans out of his side and pukes all over the driveway.
“Oh my God! Your mom’s clam was infected!” he yells and laughs in between dry heaves.
I get the kids out of the car and walk into the house without him, happy to just let him puke alone in the driveway.
Chapter 25 – Drop and Give Me Fifty
“It’s time to turn you boys into men,” my dad states, standing in front of the fireplace with his arms crossed in front of him. He gives Carter, Jim, and I each a stern look.
“Hey, I’m man enough,” Carter complains while Jim nods in agreement.
“Yeah, me too. It’s fuck face here who needs work,” Jim says, pointing in my direction.
“Fuck you,” I complain, punching Jim in the shoulder.
“GET IN THE KITCHEN AND MAKE ME A CHICKEN POT PIE, BITCH!” Jim yells at me.
“Seriously, fuck off!”
“Hey, I’m just getting you prepared for this challenge and getting your wife back,” Jim explains with a shrug.
Carter had called me last weekend once we were finally un-grounded and were allowed talk to each other again. Claire spilled the beans to him about how Jenny has been feeling lately and Carter wanted to give me a head’s up. Of course, Claire swore him to secrecy and told him she’d never give him another blow job again if he told me, so Carter obviously threatened my life if I said anything to Jenny about it.
I spent all week trying to be a better husband, but I had no idea what the fuck I was doing or how to be better since I thought I was pretty fucking awesome to begin with. I made sure to remember to put the toilet seat down and the cap back on the toothpaste and when Jenny never commented on it, I brought it up to her and asked if it made her happy. She told me I was an idiot and walk out of the room.
That led to me calling my dad and asking him for help.
I had told Jenny I was helping my dad put together a bookcase and we all met at Liz and Jim’s house while she was out grocery shopping with the kids. Jim had said she was taking the girls over to have lunch with her parents after, so we should have plenty of time to get this done without anyone knowing about it.
“Alright boys, listen up. There are three rules to live by when you’re married. Number one, don’t piss off your wife. Number two, don’t piss off your wife, and number three…”
He holds out his hands, palms up, indicating for us to finish.
“Never piss off your wife,” the three of us say in unison.
“Wonderful, The Three Stooges can be taught,” my dad says.
“Heeeeey!” Jim complains.
“QUICK! Tell me what you do when your wife comes home from work with a box of tampons in her hands and starts complaining that the house is a mess,” my dad fires at Jim.
“Uh, um…fuck! Uh, tell her she looks pretty?” Jim stammers quickly.
“WRONG! You tell her to go take a nap so you can clean the house!” my dad answers.
“Fuck!” Jim grumbles.
“Stand up, soldiers!” my dad yells.