I thought I might just make it to next Tuesday without panicking, without being a raging bitch, without my husband threatening to leave me behind.
Fail. Fail. And Fail.
I called my husband today, to ask if he planned to pick up his suit from the dry cleaners. He said, “Nah, I’ll do it another day." Just like that, so lackadaisical. And that’s when it set in.
Because not picking up his suit is really just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things he says he will do another day.
Oh, you’ll just do it another day … Okay … Sure, because there are so many of them left. The words were on the tip of my tongue … Why do you have to put everything off to the last f-ing minute? You have a list of 3945734 f-ing things to do and our days are f-ing numbered! You’ll probably f-ing forget about it altogether. And that’ll be an f-ing fiasco. F-ing forget it! I’ll just f-ing pick it up!
No. Resist the temptation to be a raging bitch simply because he doesn't do things the way you do them. Trust that he will get things done. "Okay, that sounds good," I said.
I hung up the phone and went back to work where I promptly made a list of things I had asked him to do; things I had asked him to do that I should probably just do myself so that I don’t end up wanting to drop f-bombs left and right the next time he tells me he’ll take care of something another day.
Deep breaths. All I can do is take deep breaths. And maybe remind myself that none of this should surprise me.
This past weekend, we celebrated our anniversary by having dinner with 12 of our friends, including the couple who introduced us. Someone asked my husband if he had finished packing yet.
"I don’t pack."
Part of me wonders if I am doing him a disservice by holding his hand or making life this easy for him. I mean, he’s had people around him, making his life easy, since he was 15. I take care of just about everything – all he has to do is show up. Is it the end of the world if he doesn’t pick up his suit before we leave? No. In fact, I would die to see him in a European suit (more specifically, his monstrous thighs in skinny, tailored pants). But if he drops the rare, important ball I toss him … it can be a mess, not just for him but for our family.
I have a feeling that the bulk of the errands (and the packing) will be left to me, as usual. I will do my best not to become the neurotic mess I usually am but I can’t promise anything.
What I can promise you, is that I will crush it.