Playing Hookey

I've been attending school for over 8 months now. I've done the calculations. I've attended class 38 times, and a total of 152 hours! That is six whole days people! Snaps for me! In all that time, I have never missed one day of class until last week. This is pretty amazing, considering that when I was a undergrad, I often skipped class. At the beginning of each semester, I would find out how many days I could miss each class, and make a chart. I would then document the days I missed, so I wouldn't go over.  I wasn't doing anything really bad, just the normal college stuff. You know, staying up so late that it would take a category five tornado to get me out of my plastic dorm mattress (properly potty proofed for us college students).

I guess in grad school, I've just gotten a lot more responsible. Although it could be that I am married now, so I'm going to bed at more reasonable hours (most of the time). Or that I'm paying a butt load of money to attend this school. Or that I attend class with the same people every week, and I'm a scardy cat, and I don't want them to judge me. Yeah that is probably my real motivation.

But last Thursday was the end of some hard and long weeks. Plus, I had just gotten a fat check in the mail (a refund from my school loans). Which technically, this is money that I have to pay back eventually, but it still feels like a huge treat when it comes. So I started to consider skipping class, and going out to eat with Adam instead. I expected him to talk me out of skipping, but he didn't. I needed him to guilt me, and save my perfect attendance record! Ugh what is he good for?

So we bugged off, and went to Famous Daves for dinner. After dinner started, the text messages started rolling in from concerned classmates, "Where are You? Are You OK?" I felt like a deer in the headlights (or that armadillo I ran over late one night in college, when we were returning from a krispee kreme donut run in Tuscaloosa, on a dark Alabama highway. My friend in the front seat and I started screeching, and the girls in the back were freaking out, because they didn't know what we were screaming about. Then BAM the armadillo was no more. I guess they really are nature's speed bumps) But darn my class mates and their well meaning ways! My first instinct was to lie and say I had car trouble or that my third cousins neighbor ex-roommate’s dog died, and I was too bereaved to attend class. But I knew that was ridiculous, so I told them the truth. I just needed a mental health day.

During dinner, I gave two benedryls to Adam for some allergy problems he had been having. He hardly ever takes any medication, so he asked me if it was ok for him to take two. Adam is a big guy, so I told him of course he could take two! I just mentioned that Adam does not take many medications and he never drinks. The night before we married we had a joint bachelor/bachelorette party. And the boys talked him into taking a vodka shot. He downed the shot, and immediately stripped off his shirt and ran around the lawn. It was hilarious.

Thirty minutes after I gave Adam the meds, he started acting really funny. He started talking loud and cracking the lamest jokes that he found HI-LAR-IOUS. The type of jokes that if I were to tell, he would just stare at my like I was insane. Then a song having something to do with trains started playing, and he made up a choo choo dance. And then did it at the table! I was having fun, but I couldn't figure out why he was acting so out of character. But then it clicked, that the bendryl was making him act drunk. As drunk as you are after a round of badly played beer pong. I told him this, and he was like, "Woah, I am drunk." I totally drugged my husband! But I mean come on, who is such a light weight that they can't handle two benedryls? My husband that’s who.

I even had to drive us home, as he reclined in the passengers seat, to try and sleep it off on the way home. Then as soon as we got home, Adam went to take a nap. He told me to wake him up in thirty minutes, so I did, but he kept requesting another 30 mins. I was turning into a human snooze button. But he never did get up, meaning that he went to bed at 7:30, and I spent the rest of the evening alone. At least I had The Real House B****** of New York to keep me company.