Momma Said: Oh I Know You Di’int

Just another example of how I entertain and amuse myself on a daily basis…

As you may have deduced, Sister Wife and I spend a lot of time together. Not only are we BFFs 4-EvaH, but our husbands, Zeb and Heston, (heretofore referred to as Zebston, and no, it is NOT okay for you to refer to Lizzie and me and Lizbin) work together.

Zebston are at work together from 8 to 5 everyday, and for the most part, if one of them is out of town on business, they are both out of town. Which is really great for Sister Wife and me. We carpool, feed our kids dinner together and have what we like to call “prison showers.” We turn on the shower and each child gets 5 minutes to themselves before they are jerked out of the tub and put in their pajamas.

But occasionally, eating leftover spaghetti with a 7-year-old, a 5-year-old,a 4-year-old, a 3-year-old and two 18-month-olds gets…well, old.

Tonight, Zebston had a business dinner with The Boss Man (a.k.a. Sister Wife’s father-in-law, do you need a chart yet?)…antywho, the wives were officially uninvited. Again.

So The Boss Man’s Wife (aka Sister Wife’s mother-in-law, which would make her MY mother-wife-in-law) led a rebellion, and invited Wifey and I to dinner. At the same restaurant all of our husbands were having their meeting.

We lined up babysitters, got dressed to the nines and made up our minds to completely ignore our husbands.

I was nervous about going into the restaurant alone because I didn’t want to look like I wanted to eat dinner with “The Boys” because I most certainly DID NOT.

Luckily for The Girls, our timing (as well as our outfits AND our makeup) was flawless and we beat them to the restaurant. We were all casually sipping on a glass of wine and perusing the menu at our small table for three when they all wandered in looking confused.

According to my husband’s co-worker, his exact words were, “What the hell?”

My. Thoughts. Egg-zactly.

And in a move that transformed my mother-wife-in-law to Hero status, she had our waitress send the guys our check before we were even offered dessert. That’s what you call “making them pay.”