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Trip into future goes downhill by lunchtime
(by Christine Thome - October 08, 2009)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Trip into future goes downhill by lunchtime
I've seen the future, and it's not pretty. Although my husband, John, is years away from retiring, this weekend I got a taste of what it might be like to have him around. All the time.
Golf season is pretty much over, and now that our kids play sports for their respective schools, we have very few weekend commitments for the first time in our lives. Most people would consider this a blessing. I think it might be a curse.
"What are we doing today?" John asked as soon as he woke up.
"We? What are we doing?" I mumbled in my sleep. "Well, let's see. I plan to sleep another hour. Then I'm going to make some coffee and read the morning paper. From there, I will probably start a load of wash and clean the house, just before heading to the grocery store to make lunch for everyone."
"What about after lunch? What are we doing after lunch?" he asked.
"Do I look like your camp counselor?" I said as I grabbed a pillow and contemplated whether I should put it over my head to drown out his voice or hold it over his face to drown out his voice. Permanently.
"Well, I need something to do. I can't just sit around all day with nothing to do!"
"Nothing?" I screamed. "Feel free to vacuum, dust, clean the refrigerator, wash the summer grime off the ceiling fans or empty the kitty litter!"
"I don't want to do any of that stuff. I want to do something fun," he whined. "I know! Why don't I go to the grocery store for you?"
I tensed up and remained silent as I thought about the few times I had sent him to the grocery store. Instead of coming back with bread and milk, he returned with beer and pretzels. Last weekend, I sent him for Stovetop Stuffing for a nice Sunday turkey dinner. He returned with some cheap, off-brand stuffing mix.
If there's one thing you don't mess with in our home, it's the stuffing. John can come home at 3 a.m., smelling of booze and covered in strange lipstick, but don't ever come home with the wrong stuffing.
"I won't go near the stuffing aisle," he pleaded. "I'll just get stuff to grill hamburgers for lunch. I promise."
Like a kid who keeps asking for the same thing over and over again, he finally wore me down until I had no defenses left. "Fine, go to the grocery store. Just go!"
What should have been a 20-minute grocery run, quickly turned into 30 minutes, then 40 minutes, with no sign of John. This was not a good sign.
It took me several attempts to get through to him on his cell phone. "Where are you? Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
"I don't get good reception in here," he replied, his teeth chattering on the other end.
I was pretty sure the day's temperature was supposed to be near 70. "Why are you shivering?"
"I'm in the beer fridge!" he exclaimed. "I went to a different grocery store, and this one has a huge walk-in beer fridge. It's awesome! I've never seen anything like it. Hey, can you bring me a sweatshirt and a folding chair? Some guy I just met thinks he can get the football game on his Ipod."
"Get the hamburgers and get home. Right. Now." I demanded.
"You're no fun," he pouted.
Another 30 minutes passed before John finally pulled into the driveway with an entire trunk full of grocery bags.
"What is all this?" I asked.
"You are going to love me," He cheered. "I got stuff for lunch today, and breakfast, lunch and dinner tomorrow. Aren't I wonderful?"
"Your words, not mine," I mumbled as I took a bag from his hand.
"Two ladies in the checkout line said I was a keeper," he smiled slyly.
"Did you tell them it's OK with me if they kept you?" I said.
"Really?" he asked, hurt.
"Don't worry, honey," I said as I hugged him. "I give them 24 hours, and they'll be dumping you back on my front porch."
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