Here’s the thing:

I’m no good at this blog thing.  Nor twitter.  Or really any of this social media stuff.  It’s all a foreign language to me.  Jeepers, look at my last post.  As my wife said:

“You full on raged against cell phones.”

And each and every one of you know that wasn’t the only thing I raged about.  With no substantiation behind it, I might add.  Who does that?

Well… obviously.

Not something to be proud of.  I’m going to refer to this as my dark times.  When the music has failed me and my inner turmoil causes me to Rage Against the Machine.

Ha ha. Ha. You see what I did there?

Yeah, I’m in a better mood now.  But be forewarned, I may fill this whole post with music references.  Or not.  They happen more than you think.  Sometimes I think K really wants to slap me.  I deal.  Living in a constant state of terror of face pain is my life.  Imagine living in some slap happy comedy.  Yep, you got it.

Ok, K isn’t really that bad.  I just imagine that’s her constant state of mind.  I can be a chore to live with.  But wives are great like that.  K is my conscience when I’m drunk and—more times than I will admit in writing—my censor.  If she doesn’t like something, or says to can some line of thought, she usually gets her way.

Because it’s sound advice.  I’ve trained her in this after thirteen years together.  I answer most challenges, no matter how foolish.  “Challenge Accepted” is a phrase not bandied about lightly in the Hughes/Madden household.  Fear for us, my friends.  Fear, and fear greatly.

The latest “Challenge Accepted” was uttered yesterday by K.  We were making plans on going to see Batman V. Superman (I love DC by the way, but stupid title) on opening Friday night.  I predicted that things will be busy and crazy, and in those situations, we did our usual—we considered buying our tickets early.  Makes sense to us, so why not.  But during this conversation we got into a debate about concessions (we always do).  K wanted all the concessions.  I said that I didn’t think anyone had ever ordered everything on the concession menu at AMC.

“Challenge Accepted.”

Yeah.  I hope that she doesn’t expect me to pay for all this.

Now, you may be wondering about the safety of our kids in all this.  I have good and bad and bad news there.  The good news is that we don’t have any.  Part one of the bad news is one word: Yet.  But the worst part is the last bit.  When we do, I think we both realize that “Challenge Accepted” will have to be put on the wayside, like the late nights and flashing each other around the house (We don’t really do that).  You just can’t do that and expect to raise a happy and healthy kid in a safe environment.  So the day that K gives birth to our first child, “Challenge Accepted” will be hung up for the last time, saved only for those special occasions that roll around once every decade or so.

But until then, I get to corrupt my nephew.


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