TMI Thursday, thanksgiving style...

My husband will probably kill me if he catches me writing this, because he doesn't really like when I bring it up. I mean, it's been over three months since this happened, so I think he should just get over it.

Here goes.

On September 6th, just after 4:00 in the morning, I updated my facebook status to "I think I am getting divorced."

Needless to say, I awoke the next afternoon to a facebook inbox and a voicemail inbox flooded with concerms. (No one clicked "like" on that status. I guess I don't have anyone pining for me in such a way that they are rooting for me to leave my husband. Kind of sad.)

Here's what caused the status update:

Hubs and I were hanging out at that bar - you know, the place that would eventually cause me to puke in my own car and stuff. He made a trip to the restroom and I sat on a barstool alone. I was starting to wonder if he fell in or something, but spotted him across the way talking to some pals he ran into. I stayed put, not wanting to lose our seats. Boys approached me - a good looking boy and his wingman.

I wish I could relay the witty conversation between the three of us, but it's a blur, of course. I do remember that hot guy was married, and that the wingman was his best friend from high school and was in from out of town visiting. When my hubs returned to find his bar stool occupied, hot guy said that he had "known me for years" and that he and I were just catching up.

Hubs knew this was clearly false, but he didn't mind us chatting. He allows me to speak when spoken to, and sometimes, even when I am unprovoked.

A foursome now, we all retire to the patio for cigarette smoking and fresh air - quite the contradiction, I guess. Hubster and the wingman are lost in sporty chat and the hot guy is giving me googly eyes.

When my Mr. goes back into the bar, hot guy tells me I am a MILF. I remind him I don't have children. He says the "M" stands for married.

Oh. Wow. Swoon. Thank you for the compliement?

So, hubs is talking to wingman again, lost in talk of football players and manuevers and the night is drawing to a close. Hot guy is all a flirt-in' and I am trying to behave.

Then, it happens. Hot guy asks me for my phone number. I give it to him, two numbers at a time, coyly. I am not concerned, since hubster is not paying attention and the hot guy won't call. He's married. He'll delete the number when he gets home, satisfied that he can still score digits, and our lives will go on.

We leave the bar soon after that, and hubs apparently wasn't as drunk or as oblivious as I thought. He. was. pissed.

"You gave a guy your phone number! Right in front of me!"
At first I tried to deny, much like I had at nine years old about the handwriting on the bottom of my foot. "What? No I didn't. I'm drunk. What was the question again?"

This all errupted into a verbal argument about my intentions and integrity. He said he was done, that it was over, that he was moving out and divorcing me, over those seven little uttered numbers.

Sheesh.

The next day he forgave me, and I tried to console him by telling him that it was unfair of the hot guy to ask me for my number, because I had been drinking. If he had asked me what color the sky was, I would have answered blue. That's how my mind works when I have been drinking, because I overshare. Thankfully, hubs didn't ask how I would have answered if hot guy's question had been "how do you suck a..." (Family holiday. Keep it clean, Amber.)

It hit me, though, that the reason I found hot guy so irresistible: he looked like the teacher from GLEE.

In short, I am thankful for a forgiving husband. And for hot boys who still want to get me in trouble.

Check out Lilu's blog for more tragic tales.

And then go eat turkey. Gotta run! Here comes my hubby.