Since my darling, goatee-less man is off at work all day, it falls to me to do all the legwork in preparation for camping. The planning, the shopping, the cooking and food prep, the inventory of camping gear, etc. etc. This is fine with me, as it keeps me off the streets. He will pick up the slack on the back end, unpacking the car, washing the dog, etc. So, last night, I was working on the master camping list, the menu, and the shopping list, for two hours (yes, two hours. Its all in excel and its a thing of beauty) and I just snarled and barked and did everything but throw shoes at the man. He was making jokes at my expense, and laughing at me, and I starting yelling, "Don't F with me now!"
It dawned on me at that moment that we were exactly three days before our trip. I mentioned this and he said he had just realized that, too, so I told him that, given our mutual understanding that I am completely controlling and irrational before a trip, he should not wind me up just to watch me go. He should step lightly, he should be loving, he should do everything I say, and quickly.
This is where being married for 150 years comes in handy: it takes a while, but eventually you know each other well enough to know that when husband says the basketball game has two minutes left on the clock, it will last at least another twenty minutes. Or that some of the dishes done by the husband will just have to be done over. Or that his one-hour softball game takes two hours, or that he will find odd errands to do at inappropriate times and its all okay. Its not even irritating. I just hope that he feels the same about all the things he knows about me, like that I turn into a lunatic before we travel. Maybe these things endear me to him. Sometimes, I'm just sorry that this poor guy has to be married to me. I'm looking around at my messy house and unfolded laundry, hatching a plan to go to Celia's tonight for chili rillenos, and I think, "what the hell is in it for him?"
I should really have sex with him more...