The husband and the doghouse
The phone is ringing. It’s my husband. I put the phone on silent, but instead it starts to vibrate. A plastic container with nuts becomes a temporary cradle. By the time I position it in the midst of cashew and macadamia nuts the phone has stopped ringing. Instead a missing call message stares back at me. I position the phone behind my laptop screen to avoid any further messages.
My fury hasn’t quite left yet. I continue to navigate through a minefield of “I love you” emails and slightly more arrogant voicemails. I hold back….until yet another sms comes in. A quick glance at the clock and I realize I’ve kept my husband for over 8 hours in the dog house! Albeit admittedly partial for the concept of revenge, I am not totally unforgiving.
To make the most use of the situation. Which I’m convinced I have the upper hand in, I negotiate certain terms. My husband fail to respond. “Clever” I think to myself “and very typical”. I call him up. The first attempt fails as I forget to talk into the headset microphone instead of the phone itself. I call up a second time. He seems quite amused.
“You want to go for dinner tonight?”
“Mexican?” I happily suggest.
“Sure, it’s your night Honey”. I hang up having forgotten all about my conditions.
