My husband is home this week on vacation.
He’s seriously cramping my style. He’s like a goddamn hall monitor. Yesterday afternoon I went to the coffee shop to do some writing, and more importantly, get out of the house because he was driving me insane.
I just went outside to get the mail. He was downstairs taking a nap in his recliner. As soon as he heard the door open, he popped up, and said, “You’re going out again?”
First of all, the last time I was “out” was close to 24 hours ago. Secondly, so what if I was going out? Again. Usually I don’t go rushing out to the mailbox as soon as I hear the mail truck come by, but when my husband is home, he reads the mail. And that’s bad for so many reasons. I filter a lot of the mail. Some things he just doesn’t need to see. Because instead of calmly looking into why our homeowner’s insurance company sent us an invoice for over a thousand dollars, he has to call me at the coffee shop, in a panic.
That type of reaction would be understandable if they had sent Vinnie and Guido to our door, and they were threatening to break his legs if he didn’t give them a cash payment, right fucking now. But it was just a piece of paper. And there was a reasonable explanation, having to do with escrow billing, that he was aware of, but apparently forgot.
And when I called the insurance company (as soon as I got home, as per his request…something that could have easily waited until the next day), and spoke to a very pleasant and helpful representative out of New York, who commented on my non-Minnesota accent, Barry paced back and forth until it was resolved, whisper-sighing “How long should this take?” while I was on the phone, then commented on the rep being my new “BF” once I did finish the conversation.
Today I made an egg sandwich for breakfast. He has made it known how much he dislikes the smell of it. He has asked me three times if I fed the dog. He’s wondered audibly why there is always so much laundry. If I pull a pan out of the cabinet to start dinner, he asks me what I’m doing. If I let the dog out, he reminds me to not forget to let her back in. If I’m watching something on TV, he asks me why I like it.
I was taking a timed on-line test to include on a profile for potential freelance work. Of course that’s when he started to tell me lame jokes until I had to send him away. He’s questioned why I didn’t stop Cameron from eating tortilla chips for breakfast, and then got annoyed when I said, “I don’t know, why didn’t YOU stop him? Weren’t you here too?”
My children are just as bad, but they are…children, even though David is almost 12, and sent me four text messages while I was out yesterday, telling me how much “Penny” missed me, and how sad she was that I wasn’t home.
Since I’ve already successfully intercepted the mail today, I’m going to meet my friend for either a very late lunch or early appetizers. It’s not too soon to drink, I know that.
© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2011