Okay, well, I’m not a watch. Today I am just a harried housewife with an absent husband. He went to Michigan to an unofficial college reunion, which I think is fantastic for him. How lucky is he that he still has twenty friends from college who take time out to get together for a (very) long weekend? So, three cheers for him and now he owes me one. Or maybe we’re even. Something like that.
In an attempt to be helpful, he drove himself to the mall and took the shuttle to the airport. He left at 5 a.m. or some ungodly hour, so that was kind of him, right? He arranged for a friend of ours to pick up the van from the mall and drive it to our driveway . . . leaving me out of the loop entirely. Fantastic, right? Except that he locked the keys in the van. Do we have a spare key? Why, of course! It’s on the key-ring that is locked in the van because doesn’t everyone just put all their keys on one ring? Anyone?
Well, so, now I have to go hang out at the mall parking lot long enough for AAA to come and unlock the door for us. How long can that take? An hour? Two? Fifteen minutes? I don’t know, but I do know that tomorrow is a long day for me (I work three shifts, 8 a.m. to 11 a.m., phone conference from 11:45 a.m. to 12:15 p.m., 1 p.m. to 5 p.m., 9 p.m. to midnight–guess what I’ll be doing between 5 p.m. and 9 p.m.?).
By the way, has anyone seen the forks? What forks? The forks that belong in my kitchen drawer. Try as I might, I can only find two forks in the house. We are all reduced to eating with the small forks, which I think are meant to be dessert forks, if we were hoity-toity. However, I always consider those “kid forks,” and make the kids eat with them except now I eat with them, too, because where are all the forks? Did the dish run away with the fork? Are the forks hiding somewhere with the unmated socks? Are my forks participating in a practical joke on someone’s lush lawn?