“I’ll just tell him I need an oil change later. No need in him calling back this early for that.”
“Do not forget to tell him to start the dishwasher before he leaves the house. Do not forget.”
“Maybe when he went to get his blood taken, they decided to go ahead and do his stress test so he turned his phone off.”
“But if he had to turn his phone off, he would have called me first to tell me he had to turn his phone off because there’s no way he’d turn his phone off without telling me he had to turn his phone off.”
“He probably just is out of cell phone range.”
“He was fine when I left this morning, maybe he tripped when he got out of bed and hit his head and he’s laying on the floor unconscious in the bedroom and oh, my Lord, he’s probably in one of the worst pair of underwear he owns!”
“How the hell am I supposed to get blood out of the carpet??”
“Something isn’t right. He never doesn’t respond to texts even when I text him telling him not to respond to my text. Hell, even when he’s chasing some goat off the road or drawing chalk around a body or whatever he does, he still will respond with “busy”….so I don’t get this??”
“Seriously? He sent my call to voicemail? Are you friggin kidding me? In the 2 years I’ve known him, he has NEVER not one time NOT answered. Sure I might get the quick, “Hey babe, I gotta call back” but never have I ever been sent to voicemail.”
“You know, he’s even answers when he’s on the toilet.”
“Now three calls sent to voicemail and no replies to my texts in over 3-1/2 hours? If he ain’t busted up and bleeding now, he sure as hell will be when I get ahold of his ass!”
“Oh, my God. What if he got in a wreck or he’s been shot? Check the local news station sites. Nothing. But would they even report something that bad without the next of kin being notified?”
“CRAP. I AM THE NEXT OF KIN!”
“Don’t start crying. Just stop. Suck it up and stop. If something ‘did’ happen, you gotta hold it together. Stop getting all teary-eyed. If someone comes by this stupid cube, they’ll ask what’s up then you’ll start blubbering and sweet Jesus….JUST STOP IT ALREADY!”
“Wait. He told me if something ever happened really bad, I wouldn’t be called but some law dudes would come to the house or the office to tell me what’s happened. No phone call. Then I’ll have to ride in the back of their patrol car to where ever they’re going to take me.”
“What if there’s pee back there where some criminal pee’d? Or crapped. Or did something even worse?? What if it gets on my skirt and this is a brand new skirt?”
“What if people I work with see me getting in the back of a patrol car and think I’ve done some kind of espionage or something? Crap. I’m taking my own car…I don’t care.”
“And that’s why his phone is going straight to voicemail because he’s dead and his cop friends turned it off because I keep calling and texting and bothering them while they’re trying to do CPR or pull him from his mangled patrol truck or they’re chasing the asshat that shot at him and GOD FORBID I EVER KNOW WHO SHOT MY HUSBAND BECAUSE I WILL KILL THEM WITH MY BARE HANDS AND WATCH THEIR BLOOD DRAIN DOWN MY ARMS AND THEN I’LL HAVE TO DEPEND ON CAYLA TO SNEAK ME CIGARETTES WHILE I’M IN THE POKEY AND I DON’T EVEN SMOKE BUT I’LL HAVE TO START SO I’LL LOOK TOUGH TO THE OTHER INMATES SO I WON’T BE ROUGHED UP AND SHE DON’T EVEN KNOW MY SHADE OF LIPSTICK TO BRING! OH MY GOD….IS THIS MY LIFE NOW??”
One more phone call made 3 minutes later.
Keith: “Hey babe…what’s up?”
Me: (Slobbering like a drunk, back alley crack whore who can’t find her dealer) “Where have you beeeeeeeeen? I’ve been calling and calling and texting and you didn’t answer and I just knew you were dead and I kept thinking the front desk was going to call for me to come down to the main lobby because there were men in coats down there waiting for me to tell me you were shot and dead and then I’d have to kill your murderer and I just got my nails done last Thursday and then Cayla would have to come to the pokey and see me behind bars and well, that’s no place a kid needs to hang out and you know I am NOT sharing a prison cell with anyone and plus, you know Cayla would probably taunt me with moon pies and cake icing keeping them right out of my reach between the prison cell bars and any macaroni and cheese she brought me wouldn’t have near enough milk in it for me and OH MY GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”
Keith: “Whoa, whoa, whoa…what’s going on??”
Me: (Slobbering worse now and kinda snotty breathing because my nose is now running) “Do I need to repeat all that?? I said I’ve been calling and calling and….you wouldn’t answer or reply and well, I thought you were….”
Keith: “OK…stop. Hang on.”
(3 seconds go by.)
Keith: “Baby, I am so sorry…my phone hasn’t alerted me to any of your texts and your calls!!! I don’t know what’s wrong with it but I see them now and I am just so sorry…but I’m ok, please stop crying.”
There you have it.
That was one of my mornings this week.
And it was rightly deserved.
I left the house mad at him that morning.
Mad, because he came to bed late and kept me up even later yacking in my ear about God knows what and then I got even madder because when “I” was awake enough to talk, he was then sleepy and didn’t want to hear about a book I was reading and well, it was just all stupid.
So, when I left for work the next morning, I kissed him on the cheek and promptly sashayed out of the house while barking, “I love you and be careful!”
(It certainly didn’t sound like I meant it though. Had more of a drill sergeant tone to it.)
He said, “I love you, too.” But his “I love you, too” was very sweet and gentle and kind and just so Keith.
I responded with, “What. Ever. Dude.”
And this is how I know God thinks He’s funny and He gets immense satisfaction reminding me how I need to be a better wife, a better mom and not be such a jackass.
And I’m sure with me, God uses that precise word: Jackass.
As He should.