July 29, 2015
As you may recall, my beloved has a cell phone. In fact, he’s had it for about a year, now. I think the only thing he doesn’t do on it is talk. He may have had a couple of conversations to date, but mostly he’ll use it to keep up on the weather, and to text.
And in the last six months or so, he and I have gotten into the habit of texting each other a couple of times a day. Every work day, he is up and out of the house long before I am awake. And although he has for the last couple of years left me a cute little note most mornings, we look forward to these little missives back and forth each day. For me they’re mostly a source of comfort, support, and tangible evidence of our ongoing loving relationship.
Mostly, but not always.
A week ago yesterday was my birthday. I was kept busy—and gratefully so—most of the day thanking people for their birthday wishes to me, posted on my FaceBook page. I had decided that little writing would take place that day, but I do more than write every day. Most days I say I’m multi-tasking, which is alternating between writing and getting the housework done, and making supper. Now, you need to know that my poor beloved is working long hours right now—from 6:30 in the morning until 7:15 at night, not arriving home until 8 p.m. There is no way I am asking him to do any housework when he gets home. The only thing I do ask is that he waters the plants once a week and takes care of the garbage containers.
I tell you this so that you understand I am not a complete shrew.
But on my birthday last week, I had a slight mishap and I dropped my very favorite coffee mug, one that had been my favorite for several years. There are two cups in the house that I use for coffee and call my own, but this was my favorite. The following is a transcript of the text conversation between my husband and myself that followed. Only the grammar has been changed—and it was his idea that I share this with y’all.
Me: Okay day is now officially fubar. I just broke my favorite coffee cup.
David: You should go lie down. Then later we will have a funeral for favorite cup.
Me: It’s already in the garbage. Please don’t mock me. I cried!
David: Maybe we’ll find a sister cup at favorite cup dollar store. Which one did you break?
Me: The black one with white polka dots. Dollar Store? Duh. No! Sears, maybe. Or Mary Maxim’s. It has to be a bone china cup.
David: NOT THE BLACK ONE!!!! (yes, friends, he typed that in caps with 4 exclamation marks). Ooooohhhhh. Is the ugly other one ok? You could look on Amazon, they have everything.
Me: You’re still mocking me.
Me: Kisses and hugs aren’t going to get you out of the big dung hole you’ve dug yourself.
David: Ahhh, but I love you and I gave you flowers. I know we will find a new cup together and then it will be special.
He went back to work and I went back to my computer. You know how they say that women have to have the last word? It’s true. Here’s the text I sent him about a half hour later.
Me: You were right! They have lots of fine bone china mugs on Amazon. Thank you for buying me the pretty white one with whimsical colorful horses on it. 1 mug, 44 dollars. Would have bought the set of two for 15 dollars....but you mocked me.
And while I may have the last word, my beloved often proves that he is a very smart man:
David: I hope the coffee you drink from it is most excellent.
But then, he does sometimes have a habit of snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory:
David: See how much help I can be? Aren’t you glad? (I wasn’t sure if he meant glad it all came out well, or glad he’d mocked me. Likely the latter.)
Me: Look down at your feet. See the thin ice you’re standing on? It may be in stealth mode, but it is there.
David: I won’t even touch the new very expensive MUG. I don’t want to be held accountable for it being broken. (Meaning: he won’t get me my coffee in the evening. An empty promise because of course he will).
Me: Don’t worry. You can always buy me another...and another...and...well, you get the idea.
David: Did you name her yet?
Me: And yet, you mock me still. I am beginning to think that HE might get lonely. Perhaps I should get another right now.
Of course, I didn’t order an additional new one. Or perhaps I should amend that to say, I didn’t order an additional new one—yet.
And lest you think this was a serious discourse, we each knew the other was laughing throughout—though I really did order that 44 dollar mug.