A Perfect Evening.

On Friday, Abby and I got it into our heads that we deserved a dinner out of the house. We'd been working away at the baby/frugality/Social isolationist grindstone for quite a while, and it was time to pat each other on the back.

I saw your wife. Well done.

*reluctant back pat*

The initial plan was to go down the road to our local bar and grill. We're fans of the reasonable prices, the acceptable taste, and not-unfriendly wait staff. Somehow, this plan neglected the

portable obligations at home. So we packed the battle wagon and rolled out.

It has more class than a rich neighborhood's organic-local-source grocery store and four dozen cup holders.

As the waitress dropped off the menus, my sister called and said she'd be willing to watch the girls while we went out and ate. We finished our drinks and packed back up to get the, now hysterical, home and in bed. As they've gotten older they have both a happy hysterical and sad hysterical setting. This was the better kind. The two hysterias are actually very similar, with yelling, table slapping, strange gargle noises, and full body wriggling; but the happy one includes smiles and and the other has rivers of tears.

Anyhow, the girls went down without event and we waited to make sure there wasn't any bedtime meltdowns. All clear. So we slipped out to grab a bite.

Darling, shall we GTFO?

We went to a restaurant around the corner that we've wanted to try for pretty much the whole time we've lived where we do. It was fantastic. there was no baby monitor, no crying, no one trying to nibble off my plate (neither child nor dog). To start we shared a bacon and chevre salad. We ordered a low end bottle of wine, and it suited our unrefined palates just so. I had a wild boar ragu (fantastic), and abby had a steak and frites (truffle oil seasoned fries). The conversation was good and the mood was good.

We were finishing up the entrees and she asked, "Should we get dessert?"

That was really a formality, because when she asks, the meaning is really: "I'm going to order dessert, and I know you want it too; but if we act conflicted and then give in, we don't seem like such fatties."

I hmm'ed and haw'ed appropriately and then accepted the desert menu, "Just to look at."

Then both our phones vibrated. It was a text from my sister, saying simply, "Maynard(the younger dog) is throwing up. Everywhere." And just like that, our beautiful evening, and my chances of getting lucky, collapsed like a sand castle in the mojave desert. Fun Fact: Sand is not very adhesive when it's 120 degrees.

"Your turn to get up."

We came home to find that he had indeed thrown up all the vomit. In all the places. Dr. Seuss could have written a story about it being here, there and the smell filling the air. He somehow managed to eat Doc(the older dog)'s dinner, in addition to his own, in the shuffle to get the babies down and us out of the house. The pile in the bedroom was large enough, I had to use two pieces of cardboard to scoop it before the reclamation project could start in earnest. Then there was the laundry to do and the steam cleaner to run.

Saturday, we had the wonderful opportunity to take him to the vet. $300 in x-rays and several days later it's agreed by all that he had a bad doggie case of "feeling like shit after eating too much."

There's no judgement there. I've bought cheeseburgers I had no caloric need for.

The Balad of Banhammer

Edit: This is all Jesse's idea. I am a plagiarist.

Gather 'round young un's and I'll weave a tale for your ear-holes. It's a story that'll dazzle the mind and excite the nasal cavities. This is the story of Banhammer.

Now you see, our protagonist did not start out as a mighty warrior, nor a defender of family justice. He started out as a well meaning, but distracted father. After threshing the wheat fields all day (I think you thresh wheat), he would come home to his moderate, but modestly middle surf-class hovel. He'd attend to the duties of his house, and pay respect to the Tiny Twin Queens that ruled the domain, then he would seek refuge in his games of make believe. In the fantasies he was a mighty swashbuckler, or a sorcerer from the tales, or a man/monkey/robot hybrid. The Man/monkey/robot thing was sweet, but you had to be there to really get it.

The fact that he was not paying attention at all moments angered the diminutive queens. They demanded all in the kingdom(Queendom?) either be servicing them or lie in wait to serve them again. So, each night as he would really start hitting his fantastical stride, the queens would use their sonic blasters to shatter his mental veil and drag him back to their imperial castle to worship. Their Enforcer, named Awsomewife McIloveyousomuch, thought the queens' desires were to be met at all times.

I tend to agree with her. Whatever she's saying, it's persuasive.

This made the God of Fantasy, Vydio Gaeme, pretty jealous. Our hero was Vydio's prodigy and showed great promise. He was really good at WoW. But we're not going to talk about that, it was a dark time in his life... and he doesn't want to reactivate his account.....nope. Plus, the mention of the Game Which Must Not Be Named gives Awesomewife the great power to revoke marital sleeping arrangements. And the couch is cold and lonely.

Anyhow, one evening, the man delved into his imaginarium, and again the Queens sounded their alarms to recall all servants. However, this time as the portal to imaginationland collapsed, Vydio left a little power behind for the man.

Oh God. Not the Christmas Critters!

It was a hammer, one which was imbued with the power of The Might of The Gigabits. He did not see it as he went to glut the Mini-Queens; but upon his return there it sat. He grasped the hammer and a cutsceen was jammed into his brain, like a pimento into an olive. He suddenly knew, in no uncertain terms, that the God of Fantasy did not like his leaving early before a round of fantasy had finished; he also knew it because the email the administrators of Fantasicalsburg sent him said so. As a result they gave him the power to become Banhammer.

With the power to be a nerd in real life and the ability to not be distracted, as Banhammer he was burdened with the inability to meet Vydio Gaeme ever again. Or at least for 1 day, then 2 days, and then his account might get permanently suspended. You know, unless the Queens would let him play. Someday, possibly, once they grow into their dictatorship; they might like to imagine things themselves. Or at least we can hope so.