“You need candles and you need a violin and you need your shoes shined and a guy in a tux with a white towel thing over his arm and OOHHHH!  You need a piano.  Chicks dig a guy that can play piano.  Can you play the piano, Carter?” Jim asks, finding his way back up to the couch and sprawling across the cushions, kicking me repeatedly in the process.

“Yes!  I can play the piano!” I shout.

Why am I shouting?

“I’m not talking about your little Casio keyboard where all you have to do is press the “demo” button and then pretend you’re really a piano prodigy,” Jim says with a roll of his eyes.

“Whatever, asshole.  I can fake-play the SHIT out of “Cherish the Love” by Kool and the Gang.  You don’t even know.  You DON’T.  EVEN.  KNOW.”

I rest my head on the back of the couch and stare up at the ceiling wondering why it's moving.

Ceilings shouldn’t move, should they?  If ceilings moved, floors would be moving.  We’d never be still like broccoli.  We’d constantly be moving like in a funhouse.  Funhouses are creepy.  Funhouses have clowns.  Clowns are always moving because they’re out to get you and eat your face while you sleep.  I wonder if a moving ceiling could kill a clown.

“I DON’T EVEN FUCKING LIKE GREEN EGGS!” Drew shouts from the kitchen, still staring at his phone in anger.

“On my keyboard I used to know how to play “London Bridge is Falling Down” and “Chop Suey”.

Heh heh. I said Chop Suey when I meant Chopsticks.

“Chop sueeeeeeeeey, chop sueeeeeeeeey!” I sing.

“London Bridge is a SWEET song!  Wait, I know!  You should take her to Paris and propose.  That’s where London Bridge is, right?” Jim asks, grabbing the bottle of tequila off of the coffee table and taking a swig.

“I don’t know.  Carmela went to Paris and was all depressed and shit.  I don’t want Claire to be depressed when I propose.”

Jim stared at me blankly.

“Who the fuck is this Carmela person?  Are you cheating on Claire?  I will FUCK YOU UP!” Jim yells.

“Dude, simmer down.  Carmela Soprano.  Remember?  Tony sent her to Paris with her friend Ro so she could ‘find herself’.  It really was a beautiful gesture on his part since he was banging the Russian chick with one leg,” I state.

“Hey, fuck face.  You know these people only live in your television, right?  THEY.  AREN’T.  REAL,” Jim argues.

“Take it back,” I whisper menacingly.  “Take it back right now.”

“FUCK YOU, SAM I AM!” Drew screams at his phone, holding it up in front of his face.

“And anyway, I think they moved London Bridge.  It’s in Arizona or some shit like that now,” I explain as I took the bottle back from him and rest it on my thigh.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?” Jim yells right in my ear. “London Bridge is in Arizona?  When the fuck did this happen?  Does London know about this?  The queen has got to be pissed.”

“It was on ‘Real Housewives’ so you know it’s true,” I state.

“Orange County or Atlanta?” Jim asks.

“Orange County, what the fuck is wrong with you?  Does anyone even watch Atlanta?” I argue.

“YOU AND YOUR STUPID RED AND WHITE STRIPED HAT!  FUCKING CATS DON’T WEAR HATS!” Drew screams in frustration before throwing his phone against the wall.

What the hell are we even talking about?  I feel like I’m going to puke.  And why the fuck is Drew meowing in the kitchen?  Do we have a cat?  Oh fuck, did I forget to feed a cat?  Claire’s going to kill me if I murdered her cat.

The last thing I remember before passing out is Jim telling me in a moment of drunken brilliance that Claire would marry me if I fed her lobster and that we should call the queen and ask her if her she would trade us some Grey Poupon for the bridge she doesn’t know she lost.

9. No Nut Shots Before Lunch

The muffled vibrations of my cell phone from its spot under my pillow forces my eyes open.  I blink the sleep out of them, pull my ear plugs out of each ear, and slide my hand under my pillow to answer the phone.

“Jesus, Claire.  What the hell is that noise?  It sounds like a monster.  Is there a monster in your house?”

I chuckle at Jenny’s question and roll over onto my back and look over at Carter who's fast asleep next to me.

“No, there isn’t a monster in my house,” I whisper.  “That growling snort you hear is Carter snoring.”

Once again I thank the good Lord for blessing me with the best earplugs in the world.  Not something people typically give thanks for, but I am pretty sure God felt slighted because he is only remembered for the big stuff.  I firmly believe there is a special place for me in heaven because I remember to thank him for Southern Butter Pecan coffee creamer and Coochy Cream shaving gel.

“Wow, he really needs to get that checked out,” Jenny informs me.  “You know, I read something the other day that maybe he should try.  It said taking those relaxative things for a few days will make your whole body healthier.  Maybe that would fix his sinuses.”

“Did you say relaxative?  Jenny, what the hell is a relaxative?”

I fling the covers off of me and sit up in bed so I can wake up a little more and be able to talk to her with a clear head.  I doubt it will help, but here’s to hoping.

“You know,” she says with a huff, “R-E-L-A-X-A-T-I-V-E.”

The fact that she feels the need to enunciate the word like I am the one with the problem and my inability to understand is irritating her makes me want to shank her.

“I heard the word. I just don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I complain as I get out of bed and stretch before making my way out into the hall.

“You know, those pills you take to flush out your system.  Relaxatives.”

I open Gavin’s bedroom door across the hall from our room and peek in on him.  He was still out, lying on his back horizontally across his bed with his head hanging off of the edge.  There’s no way that can be comfortable but I'm not  about to move him back up to his pillow and run the risk of waking him up before I've had my coffee.  I shut the door quietly and go back to dealing with Jenny while I head to the kitchen.

“I think you mean laxatives,” I tell her with a sigh.  “And they aren’t really supposed to be used to flush out your system.  Where the hell did you even read that about snoring?”

“Google.  So you know it’s true.  Tell Carter to try it and you can thank me with chocolate when it works,” she replies.

I stop in my tracks in the kitchen doorway at the sight before me, unable to even formulate a reply to Jenny about how making Carter shit his brains out most likely would not stop his snoring.

“So anyway, I was calling to ask you if Drew was still at your house.  I got a text from him last night as I was leaving your shop that the Cat in the Hat told him he should spend the night.  I have no idea what that meant, but as long as I got the whole bed to myself I didn’t care.”

After the girls had helped me put together the huge chocolate and cookie order last night for a wedding today, we all left to go home.  Gavin had fallen asleep in the car so when I got in the house, I bypassed the kitchen and went straight down the hall to his bedroom and then put myself to bed next to a snoring Carter.

I don’t know whether I should be happy that I didn’t see this sight last night or not.  On his back, with his arms and legs flung out to the side, is Drew.  Asleep.  ON MY KITCHEN TABLE.  His ass now rests exactly where I usually put the salt and pepper shakers.

“Yes, he’s still here.  I need to hang up now so I can beat his ass,” I tell her as I walk up to the table, hold the phone between my cheek and shoulder, and then use both of my hands to shove him as hard as I could.  His limp body slides easily across the table and crashes to the floor on the other side.