Tonight I'm flying solo while Claud hits the town with a friend. I always look forward to these nights, partially because I get to spend more time with Cheeky, but mainly because I get the opportunity to revert to my more primal instincts.
First thing is first, and I'll be teaching Cheeky the lyrics to "Whole Lotta Rosie" I may even pull out the guitar I've practiced twice since buying it and mangle some chords for her. She needs this sort of exposure or she'll turn into one of those lame girls who has Christina Aguilera ringtones on her cell phone and talks like an extra from "Bring it On". My lovely wife would never encourage this, of course, but it takes active management from an early age to counteract the evil forces that turn girls into mallrats.
After that, I'm thinking perhaps a healthy dose of Christopher Walken movies until Cheeky falls asleep. If Claud stays out long enough, I may even fire up the Xbox for a little Grand Theft Auto mayhem, provided the drive-bys don't wake Cheeky up. My poor wife has to deal with all my pre-pubescent tendencies when she's around, so I may as well get the particularly gnarly ones out of the way when she doesn't have to be subjected to them.
Claud's been getting out a lot more, negotiating the high school politics of the local mommy groups. I may have to devote a future entry to the intricate heirarchy of seating arrangements at these events, and the passive-aggressive ways that women can give other women the Heisman. In the meantime, it's better than sitting at home all day waiting for the next feeding cycle until I come home to tell her about Xena's new planet. (NOTE: This dispatch from the Office of Nerd Relations is particularly disturbing. I wonder how many of the scientists on this planetary project have had a twenty-sided die stuck in their nostril? Probably more than a few...)