Tonight I visit my boyfriend

Pat Carroll is a diamond in the rough. He is charming. He is funny. He is popular. He is a damn good time. He plays at Murphy’s Grand Irish Pub in Alexandria (100 times better than the DC Murphy’s – ask anybody), and I think he doubles their business. He used to play there every week, Thursday through Sunday, or something like that. And my goofy little posse used to go see him every Sunday night. That is, until we discovered Sex & the City. But I digress . . . .

Sadly, Pat stopped playing every week. We visited Murphy’s two weeks in a row without getting our “LOVELY!” fix. Sad. Very sad. According to my source, a Murphy’s employee who wishes to remain anonymous (and will, since I can’t remember her name) informed us about the situation. Pat’s wife didn’t want him out gallivanting until 3 in the morning 4 and 5 nights a week, so she cut back his performances.

What?!? His wife is telling him what to do?!? a) She sucks. b) He’s obviously in love with me. c) She is depriving me (and the world) of the best entertainer ever. d) She smells. e) Nobody likes her.

After months of diligent research (translation: cool ex-roomie forwarding me a web site), I discovered that my boyfriend has started performing again. And he’ll be there tonight. And I’m pumped. He’s gonna be awesome and performing for ME, while his wifey sits at home and cries. Because she deserves to. Because she sucks.

Not that I’m bitter.