Life as a Wife: Birthdays and Bromance
I’m still waking up from my weekend staycation in Newport Beach. I blame yesterday’s mimosas.
Those mimosas were well deserved, though.
The day before, I found myself walking a 9-mile golf course [alone], while my husband bromanced.
Here’s the story: we venture to Newport Beach as a joint birthday treat. Jake has a 10am tee-time set for Saturday. The hubs thinks I’ll make an excellent caddie, so I skip the pool and tag along.
Hole 1. We meet four dudes. The bromance begins.
Hole 3. This caddie job isn’t cutting it. I voluntarily start walking, expecting to meet the guys at the next hole. Admittedly, I’m excited about working off the chocolate lava cake I ate the night before.
Hole 9. I’m panting and sweating and cussing out Jake for pulling me from my idea of the pool. This uphill trek is no joke. I call him. He’s still on hole 4 [and happily bromancing]. I decide to go ahead.
Hole 15. I love and hate my husband. Love him for giving me the best butt workout I’ve had in months. Hate him for every exaggerated breath. Every sore muscle. Every martini I’m not having.
Hole 18. Thank god. Call the hubs. He’s still on hole 10. Why does golf take years? Bye, Jake.
Finally, I make it to the pool. Martini in hand, the waiter asks if “Mr. Ireland is joining?” Great question. I call Mr. Ireland. “Be there soon, babe. Having drinks and wings with the guys.”
Clearly, bromance trumps romance. I order another martini.
Fast-forward three hours and Jake finally joins me. He’s got the cheesiest grin on his face. “I had the BEST day [etc. etc. etc.]… how was your walk??”
I’m not sure if it was his cheeseball account of the sappy bromance, or the three martinis I had just downed. Either way, I was happily tipsy and my butt looked better than it did that morning.
“The walk was great, honey…” Happy birthday to us both.