Notes, from the Upper West Side. A Novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 67. Junior, Wayne, and a big rat.
So I guess the big brass at Moheum decided it wasn't such a good idea after all for the waitstaff to dress up like they were part of an exhibit. Kinda sad? It was pretty exotic there for a few days, then boom, no more scarves and shiny bracelets. I could barely move my legs, so while Junior was leaving I just lay on the sofa and watched her ass while it tested the bend-over seams of her casual Friday jeans.
About three seconds after I heard the lock turn I realized. This is it. This was the entire price Junior was going to make me pay for joining a gym. She was just going to do her own thing.
Her newbie school thing. I love that kind of revenge. But then I thought, too easy. What class did she sign up for at the newbie school?
How to find younger guys with bigger cocks? So I wasn't convinced I thought the implications all the way through, but still, overall it seemed like a good deal for me. I do my thing which is slam cami. Junior does her thing which is, probably, learn new waitstaff manager tricks and tips in what you might call techniques.
I was so grateful to Junior for simply doing her own thing instead of grumping and sighing and weeping about the gym membership that I almost let her off the hook for sticking me with the kids on my day off. But lying there alone on the sofa right after she left, I knew I would have to revisit that argument. Here's why. The wife leaving me alone so she could learn a new skill was a-okay, but sticking me with the two little chaps was what the pretentious types call a conundrum.
If you're a parent you know all about this conundrum. It is the conundrum when you're on paper, you have plenty of time to yourself, but actually all of it is consumed by a five-year-old in neutrino. A discrete child in Galash's? Yes.
But, smeared like a wave through every second of your free time. Harry was a couple years older, so he was immersively in school for two more months until summer break, but Sam was mine all mine starting now. It was not acceptable. Not acceptable.
The Junior was acting as if I got all the perks of marriage while she took all the chores. Remember back about a million chapters ago I said that Junior was going to hook up with Jessica for her own therapy sessions. Well, it turns out that Jessica treating us both as against the ethical creed or code or whatever it is the therapist community calls that thing they swear to uphold. So Jessica recommended this other therapist named Wayne, who Junior described as speaking real soft and crossing his legs like a girl when he sat across from her.
And now she was seeing Wayne. On my dime, on my union's dime, on a dime that existed only because I go to work every day of my life to do my bit to keep her and the boys from having to sleep under a tarpaulin in an alinearest Starbucks where a millennial Snapchat and urinate. And Wayne was probably responsible for this whole new confidence the wife was exhibiting. I pondered the possibility I pondered it for a good 30 seconds.
Junior had begun seeing this girly man a week or so before she made her newbie school announcement. Yes, I thought. There's therapists DNA all over this affair. Some girly man was showing my wife how to be your own woman.
I made some calculations. First, I figured Junior would nag me less thanks to Wayne, but that she would be up to shit that she wouldn't necessarily tell me about because Wayne wouldn't make her tell me. You know, the same way Jessica doesn't make me tell my shit to Junior. I may have said already that my legs were killing me, but all this thinking about what Junior and Wayne might be up to had me on my feet and pacing.
And this pacing took me back into the bedroom where I flopped on the bed and stared up at the ceiling and pondered the whole Wayne Junior newbie school complex. About a minute or maybe two minutes later I heard the boys come out into the kitchen. Then a second after that I heard them whispering the adventure whispers. While at the same time I heard what sounded like a stick rattling in a wooden box.
That got me up fast. I went back out into the living room and saw the boys poking with a broom handle at something in the kitchen area. Something that was between the wall and the refrigerator. Then there was this high-pitched satanic scream and a rat ran out for behind the fridge and threw the living room.
It didn't stop running until it was past me and inside the bedroom I had just stepped out of. It was a big rat as Manhattan rats go. And in spite of the scream did not appear injured. He's getting away.
Harry cried and the boys chased after it. Fortunately, I was already at the bedroom door and slammed it shut before they could follow the rat inside. Mone Sam. Let us get the rat daddy.
Harry implored indignantly like I was on the verge of upsetting the natural order. I could barely hear them. I had this vivid mental image of the rat on my pillow taking a gigantic rat dump but I remained calm as Gandalf for the boys. That was what we in the big city called crummy day.
I'm in pain and an unexpected incident traps me in my home instead of out dropping the boys at school and then going to the gym. Damn it. I thought I have only 17 days to hammer myself into a sun god. I admit the sun god goal was crazy shooting.
There was another park is in my head made my own. Shoot to hide a reach. Says, Park shoot crazy. You'll never be contented which is good because contented people get fat and sit around waiting to meet Jesus.
They rubbed my eyes. Park was my sensing now. Notes from the Upper West side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist.
Notes from the Upper West side copyright 2013 to 2019 by Dan Rench.