The Bro Code

I know what you are thinking…”how dare he.” Be fair, stay with me to the end. I may not completely swallow my foot.

I was going golfing with three friends the other day. My wife, with all due respect, asked me the inevitable question as to when I would be getting home. I gave the standard guy answer that I couldn’t really say. She of course asked if I meant I couldn’t or that I wouldn’t. Picture the pregnant pause.

As I considered my answer, I first planned on throwing my three friends under the bus by claiming if they were driving I would be at their mercy for when we would be coming home. After careful, no nervous, consideration as to the possibility of cross fact checking between spouses, I came clean and said I couldn’t due to the “bro code”.

Now truthfully, I am not even sure if there was a bro code between us let alone what it would possibly be. But I had put my foot in my mouth and there were only two choices. Spit it out and come clean or swallow my foot further. I decided to swallow further.

I explained that the code required me to not name a time due to jeopardizing any member who had successfully negotiated a longer hall pass. This only led to more questions like if its eighteen holes of golf and we are supposedly gifted with the talent of knowing to the minute how long it takes to drive x miles, apparently I had been bragging on a recent trip, why would someone be negotiating a longer time period than the accurate one?

At this point I should have punted but men always believe that given the two minute warning and down by two touchdowns, we can huddle up and still win this game with a Hail Mary. I went with the emergency contingency. If an emergency were to come up, we may be forced to all become involved in the emergency as a support team and then who could tell how long we might be tied up.

At this point you need to picture my wife’s pose, especially what she is doing with her eyes. I didn’t even think they could roll up that far without permanent damage. Completely out of explanations, she surprisingly provided one. She explained that she suspected what I was really saying was that following golf, there might possibly be a period of beer drinking followed by or consecutive with some card playing and thus an accurate time frame would be questionable at best. She went on to explain that what she was really hoping for was a text somewhere along the way giving a reasonable ETA. She then asked if there really was in fact a bro code I was protecting? My response, “I’m too old to even know for sure what a bro is.” Busted.

But I wasn’t completely finished. “Well Hon, why didn’t you let me off the hook earlier?” Her response, “And spoil the fun of seeing you squirm? No way.”

Lesson learned guys, when confronted with the time question, think of anything besides the bro code. As the Myth Busters would say “Tested and Busted.” Women are way too smart for us, or at least me. Still wondering about the picture? It’s what happens to poorly considered arguments….they go up in flames, big flames.

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