Cinéma Vérité

"You're having a sleepover at G.'s house?" asked the Lovely Bride.

"No," I said. "I'm going there for dinner. He's making shepherd's pie."

"But you're sleeping there."

"We'll have a few bourbons and watch a couple of movies. Play Call of Duty or something."

"And then you're going to sleep there."

"You don't want me driving after that. He lives forty miles away."

"So it is a sleepover."

"That makes it sound weird."

"It is weird."

"You're being hurtful," I whined.

"I'm not going to come get you if you're homesick," she said.

"I wouldn't worry about that," I said.

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? Nothing to miss here?"

"I was talking about the kids," I said.

"Hmmm," she said.

"You could come too," I improvised. "G.'s wife would like the company."

"She doesn't enjoy drinking bourbon and playing video games with you two? That's odd."

"I know."

"I'll pass," she said. "Do the kids need to be anywhere while you're gone?"

"The oldest can drive himself. The youngest is going to a college baseball game but he's getting a ride from one of the neighbors. The middle kid will probably be getting a ride from the police."

"Better him than you, I suppose," said the Lovely Bride.

"You don't want me coming home in a meat wagon, do you?"

"Were you watching 'Tommy Boy' again?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Because every time you watch it you go on about meat wagons for weeks afterward."

"It's funny."

"It's stupid."

"They're not mutually exclusive."

"Go have your sleepover," she said. "At least I won't have to watch your awful movies."

"Give me some sugar, baby," I said.