Playing The Percentages

They say the only two guarantees in life are death and taxes.  I disagree.  I can pretty much guarantee you that I’ll get every red light if I’m in a rush.  And I can pretty much guarantee you that I will put my serve into the net on set point in a paddle match.  And I can pretty much guarantee you that my kids will dislike whatever my wife is making for dinner.

However, even I will admit that my own personal “guarantees” are not as, well, guaranteed as “death and taxes” as I do occasionally get a green light, and I have been known to hit a serve in during a key point, and every so often my kids will agree to lasagna or grilled chicken. 

So maybe death and taxes really are the only two real guarantees in life, but I think I can attach percentages to other aspects of life and figure out how “guaranteed” certain things are.

For instance if my son is downstairs playing Call of Duty and my wife calls him up for homework I think I can say that there is a 95% chance that he’s going to lobby for at least 10 additional minutes to finish his game, and after those 10 minutes come and go I think there is a 90% chance that my wife will threaten to take the game away unless he turns it off and comes up stairs immediately.

I think there is a 98% chance that my younger son will try to get out of taking a shower, and that kid seriously smells.  Literally my eight-year old needs strong deodorant.  There’s something not right there.  We’ve actually talked to the doctor about it, who simply warned us that “it’s only going to get worse.”  I’m convinced we’re going to need industrial-sized fans to air out the kid’s room once he hits his teenage years.  And yet he’d rather smell than take a shower.

And I think I can attach a percentage to how likely I am to get sex on any given night.  It’s actually becoming a science for me.  Friday night with two glasses of wine there’s a 60% chance I get laid.  Believe it or not, three glasses of wine on a Friday night actually lowers the percentage to about 45% as that third glass of wine simply knocks her out.  Remember it’s Friday night and she’s had a long day of work.  Don’t let the “Friday night thing” fool you.  She’s been at work for at least nine hours.  Friday night is NEVER any better than 60%. 

Now Saturday night is a different story.  Saturday starts at 60%.  The day could begin with the dog puking on the floor and her car running out of gas while she’s en route to an indoor soccer game, and I’ve still got a 60% chance of having sex later that night.  Saturday is my best chance period.  Date night with just me and a few glasses of wine and it goes to 75%.  Date night with a few other couples and a few glasses of wine and it goes to 85% (yes, my percentages go up as long as my wife doesn’t have to spend the entire evening talking to just me . . . six days a week I’ll avoid getting together with people like I avoid the bubonic plague, but Saturday night comes around and I’m inviting perfect strangers to come and join us for a cocktail).   

And the percentages sky rocket to an all-time high of about 95% if we’ve actually shipped our kids off to other houses for sleepovers.  If I can come home to an empty house after a Saturday night out with friends and wine. . . . 95%. . . . and it’s never better than 95%. . . . in fact if any guy tells you he’s got a better than 95% chance of getting laid. . . . he’s not only lying, but he’s actually got NO CHANCE of getting any action that night. 

Now a weekday night after my wife’s had a long day of work and comes home to cook dinner and help our boys with homework . . . 0% chance.  I would literally have a better chance of getting sex if I hit her in the face with a shovel.  So it’s during these week nights where I “push the envelope.”  I will say and do pretty much anything during the week knowing I had zero percent chance of getting lucky anyway.

Don’t believe me; well let me ask you this, have you ever said to your wife “Can I stick my sex monkey into your hot butter hole?”  Well, I have.  Do you know why?  Because there was as much chance of her saying yes to that absurd comment as there was of her saying yes to a hand written poem titled “The 101 reasons why I’d like to make love to my wife.”  ZERO PERCENT CHANCE. 

Now of course that particular comment backfired slightly when she turned around and told me not to talk to her for the rest of the day, but I made that comment on a Tuesday, so I have until Saturday to make it right. 

Trust me; I’ll be back to 60% come Saturday morning.

So on second thought maybe there’s death, taxes, and my wife’s complete disinterest in weekday sex as the only guarantees in life.