We coexist in about 1100 square feet, which to my husband, seems as vast and mysterious as the Enchanted Forest. No matter where he’s been (to the bird feeder, perhaps?) or how long he’s been gone (7 minutes to the bird feeder) he never fails to ask as he opens the door, “Where are you?” A less stalwart woman might think he was secretly hoping for an abduction. “I don’t know Officer, she could’ve run off but it seems like the aliens must’ve gotten her.”
Not “Hello” but “Where are you?” I dunno maybe I’m hiding in the open concept living space, could I wiggle under the bed d’yathink? Look quick because, like a spirit, sometimes I’m invisible!
This morning I sneezed (big mistake) at about 4:20. My husband was awake in the living room, which is adjacent to our bedroom. Having dispensed with small talk years ago, “Good morning” is an unnecessary preface to the day. “Are you getting up?” Really, do I have a choice? If he suspects I’m awake, the conversation begins, “Work blah-blah-blah, what’s for dinner tonight? Where’s my____ , I know you did something with it, I just had it, you always move things (that’s called picking up)” on and on it goes.
Once he’s established where I am, it’s important to know how I’m occupying my time. After I got up this morning, I brushed my teeth. I always brush my teeth as soon as I wake up, an endearing compulsion I’ve had since I was a little girl. It’s not a peccadillo I’ve tried to hide from him. As I closed the cabinet door he asked “What are you doing?” Do you suppose he puts the emphasis on you because he’s looking for ideas? Or is he concerned that I might be getting ready to detonate a nuclear bomb, maybe printing some new 20s so I can go shopping, playing with my new mail-order Hadron Collider kit? What?! What does he think I’m doing and where is it that he hopes I’ve gone?