Finger lickin' good and gout-free!

EDITOR'S NOTE: This happened on Friday. Kicking and Screaming is too lazy to update their blog every day

Something about her brother and tonight.
I was so engrossed in watching WWE Afterburn on Sky Sports 3 that I wasn't really paying attention to what the little woman was saying.
Tripe H - "The Game," "The King of Kings," "The Cerebral Assassin" - was going toe-to-toe with John Cena, "The Doctor of Thuganomics."
Gripping stuff.
During the commercial break I got the lowdown on the what's what.
My brother-in-law wanted us to all go out in a couple of hours to celebrate my wife's upcoming birthday.
Now let me just say that I love Tara very much. She's a wonderful woman and I often wonder how she's put up with me for nine long years. She deserves an OBE.
How could I begrudge her a fancy meal at some poncy restaurant?

"Tara, I'd love to go but you know that I'm working tomorrow," I said.
If you're a Philistine and haven't bothered to read any of my previous blog posts let me put you in the picture. I am a postman. I have to get up before the crack of dawn to get to work on time.
I'm normally in bed by 7pm. Sometimes even as late as 8pm. But then I really am pushing the envelope.
"Surely you can make an exception for one night," Tara said rather irritably. "We NEVER go out."
I wouldn't dare call my wife a bare-faced liar. I think she just forgot about October last year when we watched Quantum of Solace at our local Odeon.
Now, however, was not the time to argue the point. I have been married long enough to know that I have to pick my battles more carefully.
"You're right," I managed to force a smile. "A night out sounds like a lot of fun."

I quickly skulked back into the living room for a good sulk.
Even HHH executing his devastating finishing move, The Pedigree, on Cena couldn't lift my spirits.
My not wanting to go on this shindig had nothing to do with the fact that I needed to catch up on much-needed beauty sleep. It was more a matter of moolah.
My brother-in-law Chris is a very affable and down-to-earth person. I genuinely like him. His wife Lorraine is equally charming. They're good people.
They live in a lovely leafy suburb somewhere in Guildford and drive a BMW. I also know for a fact that Chris buys all his clothes from TK Maxx. They can afford to flash the cash. Well they would, wouldn't they? They're both accountants or something.
They earn a SALARY. I make a WAGE. Again, if you've just tuned in, I'm a postman.
Where was I going to come up with £20 or £25 to splurge on some extravagant meal?
I was still wrestling with my predicament when it hit me. Gout.

I know all about this disability.
Gout is my curse. It can also be a godsend.
I can't tell you the number of times I've used the disease as an excuse to get out of doing certain household chores. As white lies go my gout is pretty much right up there with "The dog ate my homework" or "Not tonight dear, I'm on my period." Classics that have stood the test of time.
There are days when I don't want to mow the lawn. Or take out the garbage. Or do the dishes. That's when gout comes into play.
A bit Machiavellian I know, but the end justifies the means.

Tara was in the kitchen doing the dishes when I sidled up next to her.
I could tell she was still slightly annoyed with me. It's like this sixth sense that I have.
"I'm sorry for my selfish attitude,” I said while gently kissing the nape of her neck. "Screw the job. I want to celebrate with you and your family."
After that kiss she was putty in my hands.
Tara turned to embrace until she saw my face, a face contorted with pain.
My wife's initial shock quickly turned to concern.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"It's the gout. It's come back".
"Are you alright?"
Time to crank it up a notch. Time for the oohing and ahhing to start.
"Ahhh, ohhh..." was all I could mutter through clenched teeth. It was a performance worthy of an Oscar.
"Mike, if you're in so much pain you should maybe stay home and nurse your foot," my wife said. She's an absolute angel.
Of course I solemnly nodded my wholehearted agreement.
I was about to navigate my way upstairs to "nurse my foot" - no easy feat when considering my "condition" when Tara called out.
"It's a pity you're not coming with us. Chris offered to pay for the entire evening."
Almost immediately there was a miraculous improvement in my foot. Divine Intervention? Hell yeah and Hallelujah!

Chris and Lorraine treated us to a banquet at the Spur Steak ranch in Wandsworth. Good food and good company. What more could I ask for?
I am also pleased to report that I was in time for work and that I suffered no ill effects from the Castle lager or steak and enchilada combo drenched in a rich and creamy cheese sauce.
For me the cherry on top was that my wallet didn't leave my pocket the entire evening. Excellent.
Thanks Chris and Lorraine for a memorable night out. We should do it again sometime soon.