Because we do not have a Chuck.
A few months ago I hosted a very small, very intimate dinner for an out-of-town guest that illustrates a lot about my life: I got a little worried about what to serve (I have not quite advanced to the level of "dinner party"), so I busted out our nicest dinnerware and made the table very pretty...and then we ate do-it-yourself tacos with ingredients my guests brought from a local Mexican place. We drank a lot of margaritas. Then, after dinner, properly fueled with laughter and tequila, we decided to play the cheesy Comcast On-Demand karaoke. We spent a good two hours singing emphatically to horrible, horrible renditions of songs that weren't that good to begin with.
It was silly and casual and fun and everyone had a good time.
The following week, my friend and I were IMing about our lives, and marriage, and the future, and that seemingly inevitable "having kids" thing. And she said to me:
"Promise me that no matter what, we'll always get drunk and sing at the TV."
There are lots of things that I cannot predict. Fate has thrown some pretty fucking horrible curve balls at me (and some pretty gloriously wonderful ones, too). I have learned maybe too many humbling things, including not to make promises I can't keep.
But dearest friends, invisible and otherwise, please know that no matter what, no matter if it's tequila or bourbon or wine or just love and friendship I'm drinking in, no matter if it's songs or words or blogs or musicals or dramas or home videos that are flickering on the ever-changing screen, no matter what, I do promise.
I promise that we -- you, me, Ish, all of us here at this blog, and even this little peanut --
-- we will always get drunk and sing at the TV.
P.S. The cats would have no part of posing for this photo.
Sherlock tries to rub his head against the stick.
Leon allows the stick to rest on his head, but he does not like it.