Missing Persons

I’d feel guilty about being cross and difficult EXCEPT lots of my women friends “get it”. In Uncharitable Thoughts I may or may not have mortally wounded my husband with an oar, maybe he was just an ear bleeder, who knows?

Earlier this month, I met with a man/husband/professional to discuss business. Among the topics he mentioned was the fact that he takes his wife on vacations, just the two of them, and he listens to her for the entire time, he rolled his eyes. He told me she’d been wanting to discuss their estate planning. Frankly, I see a correlation between the two. He went on to say that her voice is background noise in the evenings when he gets home from work; he doesn’t pay attention to what she is saying, when he knows he should. I’m not saying a word if he floats past on the river, ears gushing.

Last week, I met with our banker. She told me she remembers how much fun she and her husband had before others intruded in their lives. You know, co-workers, kids, relatives, all those demanding extra people; the people, whose needs get fulfilled all the live long day. A husband becomes just one more needy person.

Yesterday I worked, just like today and all the other damn days of the week. I went to a little ice cream shop to get my husband a homemade ice cream sandwich with blueberry ice cream and chocolate wafers. While I was in there, just me and the women at the counter, whom I’ve known for years, we had a conversation about how we all get lost in caring for everyone else. I told them that, mentally, I pack my bags. Sometimes I am generous in what I will leave behind, others I leave nothing behind but the damn TV, coffee table, and bedframe. You’ll recall I just bought a new box spring and mattress, they’ll be going with me. I’m leaving the sofa behind but I’ll be taking reimbursement for it. My friends were nodding and laughing. They told me their husbands are completely baffled about what could possibly be WRONG. One of them told me her grandmother labeled the undersides of all the furniture for the day when she moved out, which of course never came.

It’s good to go away, alone, so persons have time to reflect on what could possibly be missing. It’s a mystery of dirty dishes and laundry, complicated by a puzzle of things that no longer magically happen.


About elroyjones

Married, no children, responsibly self-directed, living happily.
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19 Responses to Missing Persons

  1. hanslr says:

    LOL! I’ll try ….”mentally packing my bags….”

  2. caitlinstern says:

    I recently saw an ad for a tv show “A Week without Women” where all the women in a town leave the men to cope with the kids, chores, etc. It seems hard on those poor kids, but I bet the men won’t take them for granted ever again.

  3. gkinnard says:

    WOMEN and what’s wrong . . . where, oh where does a poor boy begin?

    Yesterday I had my senior-year high school yearbook out (1975, mind you) showing my nephew pictures of his father. Later, after they had left, my wife grabs the yearbook and wants me to show her a picture of my “old girlfriend.” Knowing where this would lead, I said no—for several hours I said no. After seeing that I wasn’t going to give on this, she told me that “I must really care about the girl if I wouldn’t even show her a picture.” WHAT? Damned if you dos, damned if you don’ts lie in wait everywhere with your half of the species. Why, oh why? Please have mercy on us!

    • elroyjones says:

      I LOVE Patty! In answer to your “Why, oh why?” Y is the problem, your gender has an X and a broken X resulting in the XY configuration and a subsequent lack of understanding. It’s okay George, when we’re not mad we feel sorry for you.

  4. judithatwood says:

    Elroy, I am so very glad to be on your side of this contest — your profound writing speaks for all of us. Plus, since I am no longer affiliated with any man, I can be frustrated vicariously through you.

  5. Chuckling and thinking about a one way ticket to someplace. Definitely NOT rolling my eyes.

  6. I’m sorry… did you say something? It just drifted by like a bloddy-eared corpse floating down the river… ummm bluberries

  7. Music to my oars, but one word: incorrigible.

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