Friday misery, chapter 6: bye bye Bernie

It's a bye week. So what's there to be miserable about? 


My bye week road game
I love the idea of travelling in the Fall, cuz nine times out of ten it means seeing the Dawgs play somewhere on the road. This weekend the Dawgs are taking to the road, but it's to see Mama, fish a little, hunt deer, read Bibles on Grandma's front porch while sipping lemonade.

Eye candy, not arm candy.

So where am I off to? My wife's high school reunion. Now, I've long been convinced that I was put on this Earth to adore and care for Catherine Zeta-Jones. But our paths never crossed; and the judge has seen fit that they never will. And perhaps that is for the best. I'm just not cut out to be arm candy so that Mrs. Bernie can show me off to people she used to turn down for school dances and dismiss from the cool lunch table. Catherine is better off with someone more polished and politically correct for the red carpets she graces.


For the wife...I'll do my best. I packed a tie. And clean underwear.


But I was supposed to be off the hook for this. When the issue first presented itself I celebrated the fact that it would be during football season. I have a great wife. She knows that if mowing grass and painting walls takes a backseat to Georgia football, driving to Virginia to grin and bear it during a 20 year catchup gossip session had no chance in hell.


But they chose the off week. YGTBFKM. 


Worry? Me?
I have two kids. When they ask to venture outside my public area comfort zone (ie. mall, Wal-Mart, crowded restaurant, soccer field, up the street to Brandon's house...) I get nervous. I'm not tied nearly as closely emotionally to our football players as Coach Richt. Yet he's releasing 115 kids loose on the continental United States.


I'm a nervous wreck. Do they allow scooters on I-75? Can we get Twitter and BookFace to crash for a few days so that the temptation to post certain pictures is removed? Where's Mudcat's car?


It's times like these that you can just sense the AJC journalists start to drool at the thought of Monday morning's column. You can hear the radio personalities smiling through their teeth at the opportunity to light up the call lines all next week.


I trust our players. Truly. I just hate old history lessons.

Girl you know it's true!

Ca$h bar? No thanks.
Speaking of history, back to the school gymnasium in Virginia...


Wife paid money for this right? A good wad of dinero actually. And then Wednesday...that's right, two days ago...I come to find out that the only thing it covers is some shrimp cocktail and soft drinks. Oh!...but there'll also be a cash bar.


Gee thanks. Nothing says let's talk about how y'all used to skip chemistry class like a $5 well drink. By the time we get to the revisionist history of the senior prom I'll be taking out loans against the kids' college education for a half empty bottle of José Cuervo.


With any luck Milli Vanilli will be the band. Maybe that's where all that ca$h went.


Have a great bye y'all. I've got my flask of bourbon packed and ready for whatever punch they serve Saturday night. Just hope I don't get over-served and end up dancing with Mrs. Bernie's old History teacher.


Or the wrestling coach.