We had a swim meet today. It is usually guaranteed to be a half day event. Which leaves the other half of the day to complete chores: grocery shopping, laundry, miscellaneous errands - like the dry cleaners and holiday preparation – in this case preparing for Thanksgiving and the family and friends who will help us share the day.
My hope was that my DH (Dear Husband) would happily escort me on my trip to the lovely large warehouse known as Costco in this part of the world. It is such a huge place that I need the support and encouragement and raw brute strength of my dear dear husband in undertaking this task.
As host and hostess we are in part responsible for beverages, which means cases of things like water and soda and perhaps a bit of alcohol. In other words, heavy items: that need to be picked up, placed in cart, placed in car and then transported to home and into the house and disseminated. This fair maiden requires Sir Galahad and his steady hand.
So I had these big plans. I hoped to get a head start in the myriad of things that need to be done to help celebrate this happy and enjoyable day. So I thought. So I hoped.
While I was getting laundry started (necessitated in part from the swim meet where towels and bathing suits sometimes as many as four or five depending on how cold it is outside (we can’t have our child stay in a cold suit when it is cold outside) require a washing.
Well, after starting the aforementioned load and then turning my attention to my husband who was I thought, changing his clothes after a long warm morning in the sun, I entered the bedroom to find him not in the right direction. I mean, I was hoping to find him ready to undertake the outing I had planned for us- which as my dear dear husband he should be able to read my mind. The fact that I didn’t mention my plans to him does not count. I am a female. Enough said.
But alas, his direction was anything but vertical – more along the planar – one dimensional horizontal frame one could say. With the most curious of sounds emanating from his blow hole – excuse me - nose.
If I could have figured out a way to record said sounds and upload them to this website I would have….
Alas, the right direction – out the door, off to errands and productivity was not meant to be.
What is it with the male species and directions? Whether asking or following…questions to be pondered…perhaps as we stroll the aisles of Costco we shall discuss and dialogue – assuming he ever wakes up from his slumber….