THE WORLD’S WORST BACHELOR

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It’s official – I am the world’s worst bachelor.

I came to this painful realization when my wife and daughter went out of town for several days recently. (And stop the rumor mongering. No, she hasn’t wised up. She went to visit family, and work obligations kept me from being able to go.) While I would of course miss them, my inner-guy silently celebrated, as he knew that it would be time to resurface, to climb out of his dormant shell that he had been locked in since my wedding day.

Innerguy went through all of the things we were going to do while I had the house to myself: poker, beer, cigars, action movies, eating nothing but food that could be purchased while still sitting in your car. Vegetables? Not unless you can deep fat fry it, baby! Life would be good.

Apparently, Innerguy has gotten old and is just a lot of talk. With my house empty and the world at my bidding, I found out that not only has Innerguy gotten boring, he apparently took me with him. I was planning on chronicling my exciting adventure of guydom for you, complete with wild stories and racy exploits. I was thinking there may have to be a "18-and-older only" headline on this column. Alas, save that headline for a review of the next Tarantino movie:

Sunday, 11 a.m. – Wife and child head out.

Sunday, 11:01 a.m. – I call my wife on her cell phone, just to see what’s going on. "I’m closing the garage door. Why?"

Sunday, 11:07 a.m. – I call my wife again. Get the sneaking suspicion I had better reserve calls for emergencies.

Sunday, 12:04 p.m. – Lunchtime. Have sensible meal of leftovers. Glass of milk to wash it down. Beer in fridge laughs at me.

Sunday, 1:31 p.m. – Go to a –Mart store to return some drapes. Yes, to return some drapes. Can hear the faint sound of beer laughing at me even more.

Sunday, 1:45 p.m. – Go to home improvement store to buy paint, because why not get some painting done?

Sunday, 2:00 p.m. – Begin painting hallway. Deck of cards joins beer in laughing.

Sunday, 4:30 p.m. – Complete painting hallway. Decide to celebrate by…throwing in a load of laundry.

Sunday, 6:22 p.m. – Done with laundry. Time to really get down. Nap.

Sunday, 7:35 p.m. – Wake up. Have concern that I may not be able to get to sleep that night. Innerguy shows a spark of life, punches me in the arm and calls me a wuss.

Sunday, 8:03 p.m. – Begin cleaning out closet. Shoes laugh at me, as they have more of a life than I do.

Monday, 7:24 a.m. – Wake up. Realize that I have occupied even less of the bed than normal, despite having entire bed to myself. Sigh a deep, mournful sigh.

Monday, 5:36 p.m. – Get home from work. Sit at kitchen table drumming fingers, wondering what it is I normally do. Ask dogs. They laugh at me.

Monday, 5:42 p.m. – Decide to rent a movie. Rent Terms of Endearment. Kidding. Just seeing if you were still reading. Rented X-Men, because I knew this was not up there on my wife’s list of must-see movies. Grabbed a burger from a fast food joint. Innerguy gives an approving golf clap.

Monday, 8:48 p.m. – Begin yawning, getting sleepy…must…stay…awake.

Tuesday, 8:12 a.m. – Wake up. Realize I am in my last day of bachelorhood. Grab phone and call wife. "When are you coming home?" I ask. "Loser," she implies.

Tuesday, 2:45 p.m. – Place 73^rd call to wife. "Are you on the road yet?"

That evening, they got home, and, I am somewhat ashamed to say, I was unbelievably elated. I am a true creature of habit. I need my structure and routine. If I wanted to be set free to do as I pleased, I never would have gotten married.

I know what a lot of you single guys are thinking – you’re thinking that I am the biggest wuss this side of Alan Alda. And maybe you’re right. But just as it was hard getting used to being married, it’s plenty hard to revert back to the single lifestyle, even if it is for two days.

Maybe the next time they go out of town I’ll do better. Maybe I just need to get used to it for the first time. Maybe next time will be the biggest, most bachelorific blowout you’ve ever seen. And maybe I’ll get the den painted.