When you’re a dude, there is nothing more poisonous to your racing plans and to sex for the next four months than forgetting a birthday or anniversary. Of course, I’ve only been married twenty-four years, so it’s not like I’m expected memorize all these fucking dates overnight, but still, it didn’t take a genius to see that things were about to take a hard left down the “Exit: No Bike Race for YOU” lane.
Being a dude, though, I’ve learned to think quickly, so I put on my best “warm and fuzzy” smile coupled with my “I’ve got something up my sleeve” smile, and said, “I know it’s your birthday. There’s a really cute little In ‘N Out just outside Bakersfield on Panama Drive that we could stop at to celebrate after the race. Double cheeseburgers and chocolate shakes! Sound fun?”
Mrs. Wankmeister scowled and said she didn’t think it sounded fun plus Bakersfield was still a shithole as far as she was concerned. So there things were, looking pretty bad, but, ever the optimist, I packed my bags and texted DJ that I’d be over at his place at 8:30, and went to bed hoping for the best.
Are you Mr. Wankmeister?
The alarm went off just before six and I got up to make my coffee, trying to make enough racket so that Mrs. WM wouldn’t be able to sleep and then hopefully she’d not remember too much that it was her birthday and maybe make me some pancakes and eggs and sausage so I’d be ready for the race in case I got to go to the race.
She finally got stirring, and started her morning routine, when a miracle happened.
“Ring-a-ling,” went the doorbell.
“What the fuck?” I thought. “Who’s ringing my doorbell at 7:00 AM?” I opened it up and there stood three very pretty and extremely bashful junior high school girls. I’d never seen a one of them in my life.
“Are you Mr. Wankmeister?” they asked.
“Is today Mrs. WM’s birthday?”
“Why, yes, it is.”
“Here’s a cake we made for her,” they said, and presented me with a gorgeous chocolate birthday cake.
I stood there trying to figure this out. Who were they? Why were they here at 7:00 AM? Why were they giving my wife a cake? So I started with the first one. “This is so sweet. Now who are you girls?”
It turned out that they live in our apartment complex, and are friends with my youngest son, and in addition to being very sweet kids were also angling to get in good with Mrs. Wankmeister, the controller of the schedule and general gatekeeper, as they wanted to go hang out with Jr. later in the day.
Only problem was that I couldn’t call Mrs. WM to come get the cake because she was still in her pajamas and otherwise occupied by cracking one out on the shitter, so I stalled a bit, then hurried into the bathroom and lit a magnum incense candle bomb and turned on the ceiling fans. Soon enough the coast was clear and we could stop breathing through a wet towel, and the girls presented their gift, and Mrs. WM was so happy and thrilled that she whipped up a breakfast and told me I could go to Bakersfield.
Vlees Huis Ronde road race 2012? Game on!
[Tune in tomorrow for “Wankmeister Gets What He Wished for Which Turns Out to be Radically Different from What He Thought He Wanted”]