The Husband Speaks

So she texts me before she leaves work. "Let's walk to 2-for-1 burgers tonight. Leaving work now."

I don't send a reply. Maybe by the time she gets home she won't remember sending it. She's forgetful. Very forgetful.

But no ... she piles in the back door (not a dainty, light-footed girl, my wife), and asks hopefully, "There's really nothing in the house to eat ... want to walk to Skip's?"

No. I don't. But then she whips out, "I thought I'd help you get ready for that 5K on Saturday."

Sure. Challenge me. She knows I won't back down. "OK, but if we're going to go, let's get to gettin'. I want to put that faucet in the basement bathroom when we get home. We're burning daylight."

She wanders off into the bedroom to get out of her work clothes and hollers, "Aren't you going to change?"

Change? Why change? What's wrong with blue jeans and an old button-up work shirt?

"You're seriously going to walk 4 miles in baggy blue jeans? How is that comfortable?" she ponders out loud, mildly exasperated.

"Fine. I'll change," I say, making it sound like a very big chore. I have absolutely no idea what difference it makes. I put on blue jean SHORTS just to irritate her.

We walk the 2 miles into town. She flaps her gums most of the way.

We sit down at the table and order and she asks, "Do you love me?" as she does sometimes.

"I walked to get supper, didn't I?"

Eating done, headed back and we're rounding the final corner to the house when she says, "See ... isn't it nice ... especially when there's so much to do and we're so busy ... to slow down just for a night and spend some time together? Someday when we're old we'll look back on this and ..."

"Say why the hell didn't we drive?" I quickly interject.