With each passing day, well maybe not day, but more and more as my life progresses, I’m learning that making plans isn’t always a good plan. Sure, it’s good, scratch that, wise, to be prepared but for certain things, coasting and just going with the flow is the best course of action.

Why this realization? Well, a few weekends ago, I had ‘planned’ to have a nice, quiet weekend where I did didlee squat! This includes not powering up the PlayStation as its position in the house doesn’t allow for horizontal gaming 😦 Who wants to buy this lazy boy a La-Z-Boy? 😀 So, watching movies/series on the sofa/bed did fall under the didlee squat agenda.

However, since my life is a bad sitcom, you know that wasn’t happening. There just had to be some drama. The events of the Sunday have made the Saturday events a total blur as I cannot recall what went wrong at this point in time but my Monday assessment of the planned weekend was #EpicFail! (Yeah, I discovered twitter and being ha(r)sh to tags) meaning Saturday couldn’t have been so good but Sunday definitely took the cake and ate it too!

THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED ON SATURDAY!!! (Never underestimate the power of taking a dump. Being enclosed in the confines of a well ventilated bathroom works wonders for the memory and creative juices. Thanks to WordPress for the BlackBerry, my writing may drastically improve if I do more porcelain throne inspired musings :D)

Anyway, my big bro had been in town for our cousin’s wedding, some work stuff and some hard rocking (not necessarily in that order). When it was all said and done and time for him to skiddadle back to the UK, I was charged with driving him to the aeroport (just something about that word I like and besides, there’s air everywhere, so the atmosphere in itself should count as the AIR port, no? Again, characteristically, I DIGRESS!!!) early on the Saturday morning of my ‘do naff all day’ day. Ideally, noon was the earliest I should have gotten out of bed on such a day but here I was on my feet from about seven on the AM.

So, off I go with my bro to the aeroport and I think there might have been a little traffic but it was a pretty stress free journey; we had a good chat, said our goodbyes and then I turned around to head home, happy that I might still be able to get some well-planned shuteye. Got home, track pants off, Greg Louganis type dive into bed and on to some classic Zs we go!

NO!

Huh?

I said NO!

But whyyyyyyyyyyy?

Yo mama wants YOU!

Sigh!

“Hey mama, how are you? What can I do for you?”

“The driver isn’t here yet and he’s stopped picking up his phone and my flight is in about an hour. Can you drop me off at the airport, please? Thanks honey, I only carried you for nine grueling months and raised you, that’s all I did.”

Ok, of course she didn’t say that last bit but she didn’t have to. Mothers never have to but they know how to burrow it deep into your skull, psyche and conscience so as to guilt trip you all around the world.

So (worry not, I’m out the stinker and now lying in bed. Dame Judi Stench has been air freshened up. So much air in this piece. Maybe I should rename it ‘HOT AIR’… Digression!!!), I man up, grab her 50 pieces of luggage (another maternal staple – plenty load!) and log them into the car and embark upon my second odyssey (what, you’ve been reading this long and haven’t caught on to my penchant for exaggeration?) to the aeroport in about an hour, this time to the new domestic wing to see mama off.

We get there in good time even though I couldn’t put the pedal to the metal like I would have liked to because the mother told me numerous times to calm down while she clutched unto her safety belt, so I had to ‘Woosah’ my way on. So we made it, said our goodbyes and then I hightailed (now, is it high-tail or hot-tail? Either way, what the hell?) it on outta there, destination: bed.

Finally got home and received some sympathy from the wife who promptly handed our adorable infant son over to me to mind for the next few minutes or so as the nanny was off for the weekend. If I hadn’t realized it before then, by this point, I knew my plan had failed, at least, for Saturday. So I sucked it up and looked forward to a stress free Sunday.

I did manage to sleep quite a bit on Sunday but once I woke up, the wife once again handed the little man over to me, only this time, she was on her way out to get her hair did, braided no less, so that was the day gone. Don’t get me wrong, I love my son to death but he’s an infant, which involves a lot of crying to get what you want; vicious slaps to my face I can’t return and Niagra Falls levels of drool. Let’s not even talk about poop. Yes, this is what I signed up for but not on my lazy weekend! Thoughts of lacing the milk with booze did cross my mind but with everything else that had gone wrong, I didn’t see any positive results coming from that, so adhered to the voice of reason on my shoulder and did not tamper with his bottle.

To be fair to the little man, he was very good. Not much crying, if any at all and he slept quite a bit. We chilled and enjoyed each other’s company until he started getting a bit cranky towards the evening. In trying to calm him down, my phone rings and it’s his mother. “Please, let this be a call asking me what I want from Tastee Fried Chicken and not any more bad news,” I thought to myself as I answered.

This is me we’re talking about, right? So, my darling dearest asks me, “Do you think I can make it from Onikan to the house driving on a flat tyre?”

Why am I ending this post like this?

I Am Random!