Freaky. Franky Father's Day

On Saturday morning, I asked David if he wanted to go to Home Depot before I headed into the city with Primo for the exciting conclusion of the avant-guard Pinocchio theater workshop for children.

“So I guess you haven’t planned an exciting getaway for us this weekend, then?” he replied.

“What?” I asked.

“Here I’ve been thinking you’ve haven’t said anything about what we’re doing on Father’s Day weekend because you were busy planning a big surprise,” he said, “And actually we’re just going to Home Depot."

“Oh, wow, sorry to disappoint,” I said, “We don’t have to go to Home Depot if you don’t want to. But yes, by now it must be apparent, no getaway. However, I have left tomorrow WIDE OPEN and we can do anything your heart desires!”

I’m not sure if it was everything his heart desired but we had a nice Father’s Day in the great Island of Coney.

We missed the Mermaid Day Parade which was on Saturday, but Sunday was a beautiful beach day – slightly overcast, not too crowded. We beat the crowds at Nathan’s by eating at 10:30am, indulging in what David has termed the hot dog breakfast – not an “everyday treat” I told the kids, but since it was Father’s day . . . Then off to the beach where the kids played merrily together for a half hour - incredible! I guess the universal appeal of sand can bridge all sibling difference. It took at least that long to get the sand off of Seconda, who is fond of doing headstands in wet sand. Then off to Deno’s where the kids got to ride Dizzy Dinosaurs, the flying elephants and – my personal favorite – the motorcycles! The sight of those motorcycles, the lurching sound of them, the feel of the scorching metal, takes me way back to my childhood days.

And then, as a special Father’s Day treat, Seconda agreed to ride the Wonder Wheel with David. This is momentous. We are a couple who love the Wonder Wheel, but our kids have never been old enough to take a ride. Or they were old enough, like Primo, but were just too freaked out to take the leap. We couldn’t convince Primo to go on this time either, so I stayed earth-bound with him and David and Sec took to the skies.

Oh, dear sweet island of freaks and franks! One-stop shopping for summer fun.

Then, in the evening, I did take David on a mini-surprise date, out to dinner at this new gastro-pub he’s been wanting to try. It wasn’t a weekend at the Riviera but the burgers were tasty and we got to hold hands on the walk over.

Father's Day

This Father’s Day I didn’t fret about what to get my husband. I didn’t make him a photo book on Snapfish or have Primo paint him a piece of pottery. I didn’t unearth the phone number for this tiny store in Kauai that we stumbled upon during our honeymoon and make arrangements with the manager to send a tiny figurine that ended up having special meaning for us, in time for the big day. I didn’t make him his favorite German chocolate cake. All those gifts were thoughtful, if I do say so myself, and well-received, but they weren’t what he really wanted.

For Father’s Day my husband only wants one thing. From me, at least.

I bet you can guess what it is.

(If you’re averse to TMI or related to me you may want to stop reading now)

I’ll give you a hint. It’s not a palindrome but it starts with a B and ends with a B. It’s free. Requires no shipping, only handling.

It’s what my husband wants for every holiday, in fact – his birthday, our anniversary. Christmas. Its not like these occasions are the only times he’s the beneficiary of such pleasure, but it’s not the sort of thing you can ever get enough of, I guess. Its like as a kid you probably got spaghetti and meatballs pretty regularly but that didn’t preclude it from becoming your favorite food and being what you requested when it was your turn to choose. If I’d realized sooner that sex acts were not only a perfectly good present for my spouse but actually the perfect present, the non-pareil, the piece de resistence, I could have saved quite a bit of cash by now.

But that’s what marriage is -- learning how to communicate, Men-are-from-Mars-Women-are-from-Venus style.

“Why don’t you like the Starry Night tie I special-ordered for you?”

“Because I wanted a BJ.”

Oh.

Simple.

Progress.