Saturday Strikes Again

"I just want to disappear,
And feel like I'm free at last,
The time is right, my day has come,
It's going to start today,
My life of Saturdays."
-Dexter Frebish, "Life of Saturdays"

There's something about a lazy Saturday that tends to bring out the best in people. And when I say 'bring out the best in,' I mean 'give the uncontrollable urge to wake me up out of a peaceful alcohol-induced slumber to.'

It all started, for me at least, around 9:30 this morning. Or, to put it another way, about 5 hours after my night had ended. The apartment building next to mine-- the one that caught on fire in June-- is beginning reconstruction this week. Why they took nearly 5 months to start this, in the nick of time to catch a harsh upstate NY winter, I'll never know. But they did, and they start early. Drilling, hammering, pounding, you name it. All derogatory synonyms for intercourse, but also all part of the aural debris outside my bedroom window this morning. Great.

A few hours later, I got a call from the girlfriend. I responded to her in what could only be called a slight approximation to speaking Wookie.
Her: Hey there, you awake?
Me: (painfully groaning in English, fluently speaking in Wookie) must... fix... hyperdrive
Her: I'm going out, so I'll just talk to you later
Me: No, you'll be frozen in carbonite
Her: I can't understand a word you're saying
Me: Lando, how could you?
Click.

Before I could get fully back to sleep, my phone rang again. My buddy Mike, a former roomate and now chained denizen of the married community, wanted to know if I was up for golfing today.
Me: You know it's 40 degrees and windy, right?
Him: Just like St Andrews. Come on, man, it's the last Saturday of the season.
Me: Brother, the last Saturday for me was in September. I ain't goin out like that.
Him: Well, can I at least borrow your bag? I'm taking <wife's name> with me. I don't need the clubs, we're sharing mine, I just need an extra bag.
Me: ... sure. Whatever. I'll be here.
Him: OK, see you in 20 minutes. Take some Advil.

Damn, now I've got two options. Pull a pillow over my head and nap snooze-alarm-style, or I can just bite the bullet and get dressed. I choose option C, none of the above. I just lie there, thinking about the recovery operation ahead of me. Mike was right, I needed Advil.

Not two minutes passed before my phone rang again. Why am I only popular on days I don't want to be bothered, I ask myself. Myself doesn't reply. On the other end of the phone is another friend from Boston, she's having "boy trouble." Again.

"Look," I say, "I've had a solution to this issue since my dating career began. Only date girls." It gets a laugh, but unfortunately I'm now stuck figuring out the social implications of any conceivable muscle twitch for the next 48 hours. I think she took notes on a whiteboard. I'm fairly certain there was a flow-chart involved.

I leave her in better spirits than I found her, inhale deeply, and brace myself for the harsh reality outside the 100 thread count fortress. It wasn't as bad as I expected. In fact, it was much worse. I think my kidney hurts. I think my lungs hurt. I've got two of each of those, right?

Mike shows up on time, as usual, and I have an empty golf bag waiting for him. "<wife's name> will probably start complaining by the fifth hole that it's too cold," he says, rolling his eyes as <wife's name> waits impatiently in the running car, "It's going to make for a long back nine."

"Dude," I begin, intelligently, "the whole reason Scots invented this game was to get away from their wives. Don't you know anything? You're breaking all the rules. I think they even post that in the clubhouse, engraved in gold."

"I know," he replies, defeated, "but what are you gonna do?"

"Me? Now? Find my car," I say, "it's not exactly 'here,'" somehow articulating the quotation marks.

He knows from experience. "I see," he says knowingly, "you need a ride?"

I look up at the crisp autumn day, the sawdust still hanging in a cloud over the neighboring building. It's sunny, if nothing else. "No thanks," I start, "I think I need the walk."

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