Paint the Town Red

   It is a very rare occasion indeed for my husband and I to be spotted out on the town, painting it red. There is however, a blue moon now and then and sometimes the stars will align just right for us to have a night to ourselves and a baby sitter willing to watch the kids. Last night was one of those nights. We got our hands on some free tickets to a basketball game in our hometown from my brother and sister in-law, and not only were they free, they were VIP. I should've known what I was getting myself into, but I went not even knowing the basketball team's name, so it is of little surprise things went the way they did. I was allotted exactly 6 minutes and 45 seconds to get ready from the kids, so I wore jeans and a hoody and wore my hair in a messy bun, and of course I ran into everyone I have ever known. They were dressed to the nines, and I was in my dumpy "mom uniform". As usual, I was embarrassed, but I boldly carried on, not willing to let my fashion faux pas ruin my evening away from the heathens.
   The VIP section was set up like a small cafe. We had a small high-top table to ourselves, with a very important "RESERVED" sign placed on it. While I was thrilled to have space to set my 700 pound purse on, what I didn't realize was that we would be on display for the entire arena, like animals at a zoo. I began to neurotically check every three seconds that my underwear was safely underneath my jeans, and every bite of food I took I was convinced was chewed and swallowed like the cud of a cow. Being VIP meant free food and free drinks also. My hubby was so excited for an alcoholic beverage he took a swig of my brother-in-law's beer accidentally, totally losing control, with nothing but the thought on his mind that he hasn't been allowed beer in public for 2 years. I was starting to realize being out with him was nearly as embarrassing as being at the grocery store with the kids.
   When we arrived at our little table, he began to obsess over the fact that it was wobbly. He wasn't going to let it interfere with his good time however, and quickly balled up the paper container our popcorn was in and shoved it underneath the short leg. So handy, he is! After that little stunt, I began taking notes into my phone for this very blog, every time he did something bizarre. He caught me, so for fun, I started to pretend document something every action he took. I think it made him uncomfortable, which was nothing compared the discomfort I felt when he decided to make a scene with the bartender. He came back to our table after a "beer-run" triumphantly describing how he had told the girl who poured his beer he wasn't going to tip her, because the time before that she hadn't smiled or said thank you when he did. Little did I know, not only was he handy, my husband was a true advocate of etiquette! 
  All that politeness was forgotten though, shortly after the cheerleaders arrived on the scene, twerking on court in their underwear. Where are these girls mothers, and excuse me for not clapping, I don't cheer for girls sixteen pounds thinner than me, I just don't. My husband didn't seem to share my views on the matter. For some reason, he thoroughly enjoyed their half-time strip tease. Also on the line-up for entertainment was the team mascot. He was a gigantic, furry mammal of some sort, and when he was air-humping the table beside us, I noticed his T-shirt said, "Child Abuse Is Preventable." Ok then, pedophile, whatever you say!
   At our neighboring table sat two brothers my husband and I know, and they were a riot. They were loud, drunk, and hilarious. They built a tower out of their emptied beer cups, and everyone that passed either openly or covertly snapped a picture of it. While they cheered and hollered, my husband did as well, specifically for #44, a giant of a man he loudly referred to as "Big Whitey". Sadly, that actually isn't the weirdest thing he's ever uttered in public. Not even close. We won the game, though, and on our way out, we stopped and perused the souvenir shop. The goal was to buy our son a foam pointer finger, and we left with buyer's remorse and 55 dollars worth of merchandise. Apparently, even a night without them ends in presents for them. 
  On our way home, we received an ominous text from my mother in-law asking, simply, "Is it OK if your son doesn't get a bath tonight?" It was an hour past bedtime, and we weren't sure what that meant. We called her phone, to which we got no reply. When we arrived at the house, both kids were still up, unbathed and our son was playing with his toys. My husband's mother is far from being green in the area of child-rearing, so for her to have unsuccessfully gotten the kids in the bath and into bed, meant that my heathens were as bad as I suspected. I verbalized my shock at their behavior, and in a true grandmotherly fashion she swore it was no trouble at all, and that she loved every second of it. That's because you get to go home now, lady! 
   So we didn't have a night out in the way that we used to, so my husband is embarrassing and weird, and my kids didn't do what they were supposed to. I still got to leave the house, Tony got to drink some beers, we were able to hang out with the in-laws, whom we love dearly, and the kids got to play Gramma like a fiddle, who pretended not to notice and loved every minute of it. I would say the night ended as a success, and as a bonus, our team made the winning touch-down! Or is it field goal? Basket? Whatever the term, everyone was a winner that night!