Thursday, December 1, 2011


Dear Husband, 

I want you to know that it was your smile -- that same smile that likely triggered my first dream of you back in 1994, which ultimately inspired me to send you a vague greeting card in a lame-ass attempt to woo you -- that saved your ass tonight. I was seriously fantasizing about throwing the car into reverse, mashing the pedal to the floor and running you down when I first saw you crossing the parking lot this evening.

You are a wonderful, wonderful man. I could not have imagined a better father for my children or a better partner for me. In the compassion department, you are my role model. I miss you when you aren't here and pray that I will never have to spend a day in my life without you. 

But if you can't figure out how to answer any one of your three phone lines in the very immediate future, I will cut you while you sleep.

I am mystified at your inability to answer a god damn ringing/vibrating phone.  Tonight, in response to your invitation to meet you for dinner before your event, I called your office, your other office and your cell phone no less than 15 times in a period of about 90 minutes. I'm sure the colleagues that share office space with you are also plotting your death.  

I texted you multiple times, to no avail.  

You didn't see my texts?

The one at 4:45 was pretty clear:

You are an asshole.

Husband, as I asked a kid to get the pizza delivery menu -- right after my 4:45 text -- I was moving towards the TV so I could watch the news to confirm or deny my fear that a psychotic student or a disgruntled janitor had your wing of the school in a hostage-like situation. Because I seriously think that those things are happening when you don't respond to a text. Or a message. Or 15 messages. 

I need you to understand, lover, that although we were able to meet you, and I laughed during dinner and may be smiling when you get home because I had a nice evening with the kids and my belly is full of greasy beef and salty fries, I'm not going to forget this. And when it happens next time, and I remind you of your bad track record -- and you deny it -- I will find this blog entry and carve it, with the date stamp, into your back with a grapefruit spoon.

I love you, Husband. If you are reading this blog on your train ride home, I'm assuming your phone is in your hand. Keep it there. Or put it on vibrate and jam it up your ass. If you don't respond to the pending text/call that I will place between 9:30 and 10:30 pm, heads. will. roll.

Playing Tetris is not an excuse to not answer my call either.

I look forward to seeing your smiling face.


1 comment:

  1. My Wife is the same. All I want is a response - not too much to ask, right?

    And if you're going to carve, do it with a used grapefruit spoon - the citric acid will add a certain "bite" to your message.