My boyfriend asks me things like this:
“Sooo…. would you be interested in playing beer pong and going to a bar with Dave and Lisa and [insert other people I don't know] tonight?”
And I say things like:
“Um, I have to work tomorrow,
and Dave and Lisa probably are going to a bar by their place (and therefore barely accessible to us, by public transport),
and there’s laundry downstairs,
and I have homework/reading to do that simply MUST do tonight! There’s NO OTHER TIME!”
On Saturday nights, I am usually a dirty liar.
Things I Accomplished On This Average Saturday Evening:
- Rearranging (i.e. making a complete mess of) all of my books
- Updating all of the blogs-that-I-follow bookmarks
- Watching episodes of My Drunk Kitchen
- Stuffing myself silly on homemade pizza, garlic bread, salad, and Disaranno & Fancy, Local Sodas
- Browsing food blogs for tasty recipes to cook next month
But at about 9:01, my boyfriend left the apartment to catch a couple of buses and be a social beer-pong-butterfly.
At about 9:02, I turned on an episode of Mad Men and poured myself another glass of wine.
At about 9:03, my boyfriend reappeared, announcing that the trip was canceled, Dave&Lisa&co were staying in with takeout instead.
The Moral of the Story?
I did homework on a Saturday night as to not shame myself.
Lance watched a great deal of overtime hockey,
and read one of those books I left lying around.
