Drunken Confessions And Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

My husband loves to drunk call me. Whenever he can resist the hypnotic song of the television and actually goes out with his friend, Jorge, I can always expect a call sometime around 3 in the morning.









His latest drunk call was apparently a confessional.


Me: Hello.


Him: Hi, I'm drunk and I love you.



And the fun continues from there, people.





Me: Love you, too, Dear.





Him: I gotta confess (referring to the latest news of a cheating husband we know) that secretly I'm glad because this has made me look like a better husband.



Me: (laughing) I see.



Him: I told Jorge in the midst of all this, you forgot you were mad at me. (laughs)



Me: (silently) No, I haven't. I'm still trying to think of ways to make your life a living hell. Stop laughing. Now.




(Okay, I must admit I have forgotten WHY I'm mad at him, but nevertheless, the vague sensation of pissed-offedness lingers.)



Me: (out loud) Any other confessions?

Him: "I secretly like romantic comedies. I try to act like I don't."


Me: I see.

Him: And just remember that I love you-- no matter how much I fuck up in the future.

Me: So, is this your way of apologizing in advance?

Him: (laughing and feeling quite satisified with himself for his cleverness, I presume) Exactly.

(He then proceeds to sing Bon Jovi's 'Always'. Very off key, I might add. And I proceed to hold the phone far away from my ear.)

Me: How about just saying sorry? Two syllables. That's it.

Him: Uh, I think there's a bad connection... I love you... Bye...

Nice.