J-Fed: A Real Pisser

They say things aren't always what they seem, but I think that's debatable.

If it walks like a drunk and talks like a drunk, it must be a drunk right? Well, the answer is wrong, according to J-Fed. The last year or so J-Fed has been on his best behavior, and by best behavior, I mean he hasn't beencompletely irrational. He hasn't spent hours on end playing illegal video poker in a nearby gas station. Hehasn't bought any exotic disease-carrying pets for the children. For the most part, he's managed to come across as a semi-responsible adult who's fulfilling his duties as a father and ex-husband.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and it appears his run as responsible has briefly concluded. It was a Saturday like every other Saturday. I was running the girls to their dance lessons and tutor sessions. Meanwhile, the man child was busy at work. What he was working on, I have no clue, but whatever it was, it left him mighty tired.

You see, J-Fed and I had agreed that the girls would likely go to his house around 4 p.m. At least that's how I understood it. So imagine my shock when the Fedster didn't answer his phone at 4 p.m. or 4:03 or 4:16 or 4:20 or 4:30 and so forth. I was dismayed, annoyed and a bit concerned that he had basically stood up everybody involved.

By 5:08, I had packed the kids up and driven over to his house. I knocked to no avail. If I had my other set of keys with the key to his house, I simply would have let myself in, as I usually do. So after five minutes of me tap, tap, tapping at his door arrived Mr. J-Fed evermore. There he stood -- bad haircut at all. It was obvious that during his Saturday downtime he had made a stop the local butcher, er, barber shop.

"WHAT?!?" he yelled.

"Really??? What the hell, J-Fed? It's 5:15, I've been calling for an hour and fifteen minutes. You were supposed to get the kids at 4," I seethed.