As you know, against my wishes, we work all the damn time. I bought a ticket to the Last Summer on Earth tour last spring in an effort to suppress my homicidal urges toward my husband. You may recall that my husband, who loves to work all the damn time, doesn’t favor my sallying forth on my own. He worries.
You’ll also remember that I am not always sweet and understanding. I had invited my husband to accompany me to the concert more than once; he declined more than once. Then it dawned on him that I’d be away over night, after having been out in a crowded venue teeming with potential sociopaths. He began to worry in earnest because I don’t always “pay attention”.
Tuesday, he asked me to do more at work than I had planned to do, which aggravated me. “You’d better get used to it because I’ll be gone on Sunday and I won’t be back until Monday night so you’ll be on your own at work” I said with a smug little smirk that the most unassuming bystander would’ve wanted to slap right off my face. Suddenly, he wants to go with me…so we can get up at the crack of dawn on Monday and be back for work bright and early.
He knows he’s working me to a frazzle, that I’ve the typed the fingerprints right off my fingers for him, and I’m likely to keel over at any moment from spite and inadequate appreciation. I scheduled a meeting for next week and he told me if I’d reschedule for Saturday, and attend with him, we could go out for lunch afterward…to a place he loves. I may have mentioned, casually, that he chose the restaurant, which prompted him to reply, “They have pie; you like the pie.”
I am the undisputed Queen of Acquiescence.