With Regina out of the house for the weekend, I did what any guy would do: I called up my friends for a guys night out. Sounds wild, right? And just a few years ago, it would have been "Fight For Your Right (to Party)" crazy. Things would have gotten broken, blood would have been spilled, feelings would have been hurt. Now, it means calling up your friends whose wives are also out of town and telling them to bring their boys over for pizza and Coors.
Immediately after the wolf-pack arrived (four boys, two dads), the power went out, which turned the party into a Man vs Wild survival-fest. Grady's food was warmed on the wood stove and our night out for pizza changed to a night in for crackers and cheese. We considered BBQing some road-kill or eating one of the horses, but when someone mentioned that Coors has the nutritional equivalent of a "pork chop in every can," we decided we'd leave the grill off.
Our manly survival instincts kicked in as we found our way through the dark without running into walls, tripping over toys, or colliding with each other. The boys found their sleeping bags, Dylan found her princess bed (which instantly removed her from the wolf-pack club), and the adult-boys found the cooler for more Coors, or pork chops, whichever.
When our wives returned we had soot on our faces, awesome B.O., and beer breath. They regaled us with stories about pedicures and wine tastings and when we were asked about our evening, we just grunted as a reply, 'cause that's what wolves do.