Nay, we are but men. Rock!

So today is my wife’s birthday and two of her best friends came over to bring her ice cream and apparently talk all of the oxygen out of the earth.  It was good times for a while we were all joking around and I felt like I actually live here.  Then the subject changed to the diva cup.  It was this point in the conversation that I was banished from my own living room.  I’m not talking about a civil, “Hey Ben I know you live here and I respect that more than you will ever know.  Could you please leave so I could discuss something that could make you feel a little uncomfortable?  I know this is a little inconvenient so feel free to get a little more ice cream as payment.”  That is what I would expect, or at least that is how the conversation would go in my head.  What I got was, “Go check your email so that we can talk.”  

You need to understand the level of trepidation I am feeling right now.  Every time these women get together something bad happens to my life.  When they first became friends I had to start washing Ziplock baggies.  Later I had to leave the kids’ bath water in the tub so that I could use it in the washing machine or on the garden.  Then I started using a rock as deodorant.  Something bad always happens whenever I get kicked out of a room.  I’m afraid when I walk back in there they’re going to tell me that I can only brew and drink soy beer or something.  

The jokes on them though.  I’m not checking my email. I’m writing this post and I’m eating the rest of the ice cream anyway.  That’s right ladies you can’t control my life.  I’ll do what I want when I want to do it in my own house.