It has been a long winter, a “Game of Thrones” kind of winter. A vile, nasty, brutal, enough to make me think about moving to Florida and you know how much I hate Florida (a lot, in case you didn’t), kind of winter. It has not, however, been all bad. At least when the weather is that bad, people tend to stay at home and hibernate, which means less company for my wife, the privacy loving and likes-people-but-let’s-not-get-carried-away-with-it Jess and I. Not that we don’t like company, but when you live in the midst (literally) of a large and socially-inclined family, there is always somebody who just “drops by”. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere. For years now, I’ve drawn it on Friday night. For the 1st few years that we lived on “the compound” everybody avoided our house on Friday nights for fear of walking in in the middle of our carnal exploits, a fear I intentionally fostered through off-color stories about what we got up to, and dropping hints about aberrant behavior and deviant proclivities. Unfortunately, as the years went by, my allusions to deviance seemed to lose their effectiveness, or maybe they just remembered that I’m not quite as wicked as I say (or maybe I just don’t have the energy that I used to).

I next tried just warning them off. I told them all that unless they were bleeding or on fire, to stay away. This may sound callous, but nothing screws up an evening of whisky, woman, and song (along with maybe a good game of strip cribbage) faster than being invaded by a horde of kids and grandkids. It really throws your groove off. It’s not that I don’t love my kids and grandkids, I do, but, (as most of you have probably noticed as you’ve gotten older) that old, romantic groove comes along a lot less frequently than it used to. At any rate, a straight-up warning was even less efficacious than hints and innuendo. People just kept dropping by on Friday nights.

Adding insult to injury was the fact that pretty much every time they did, Jess and I weren’t really up to anything more scandalous than eating pizza with too many jalapenos on it, and that’s just embarrassing. Not the jalapeno pizza part, the not doing anything scandalous part. The embarrassment of being caught repeatedly with my pants up, so to speak, was just more than I wanted to face. Not to mention that I really do feel that we should be engaging in the “Carnal Olympics”, as I like to think of it, in order to amuse ourselves, and not to horrify my progeny. It’s really just too much pressure for a man of my age, dignity (?), and blood pressure.

So, I have devised a new ploy, one that requires virtually no change on our part, and guarantees a horrific experience for any untimely visitors. I call it “No Pants Fridays”, kind of the home version of casual Fridays. I told my family that they were welcome to visit any time, but if they come by on a Friday evening, Jess and I will not be wearing any pants, and we aren’t putting any on if they show up. It works like a charm, especially since I told them that I have a pair of mesh bikini briefs that I save just for Friday nights (good luck getting that visual out of your mind). There is no pressure on Jess or I to get up to anything we don’t want to, seeing the voluptuous and alluring Jess walking around sans trousers certainly puts me in a good mood, and the knowledge that I’m sitting around in my drawers certainly keeps the visitors at bay. I have to say, it’s a very effective way of deterring visitors.The only down-side is that it doesn’t work during cold weather, especially since we don’t smoke in the house, and everyone knows that we’re not going to go all night without going outside for a smoke. Therefore, I’m doubly happy that warm weather is back.

This post is not intended to imply that we are anti-social or misanthropic in any way. We’re not. We genuinely enjoy company, and have no problem with people visiting, even unannounced, so feel free to just drop by. Just not on Friday after about 4:00. Unless you think I’m kidding.