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My wife worries about me. Guess I can't blame her. Over the years she's seen me through a bit of thick and a lot of thin.
"You sure you'll be okay?" she asked months ago when she was signing up for a French Intensive course.
"Me? Yeah, sure."
"I'll be gone three weeks..."
"No problem."
"...In another country so I can't just come home and, you know, drive you to the emergency room again, or make sure the stove and faucet are off again, or explain things to the police department again or..."
"Walk in the park."
"Well, if you do 'walk in the park' please remember to bring the dog home this time."
"Dog. Got it."
As I said, that was months ago. So recently when she said: "Remember, you have to get up at 4:30 tomorrow morning to drive me to the airport." I casually replied: "Huh? Airport? What?"
"French Intensive. Trois Rivieres. University of Quebec."
"I thought you already did that."
"You thought I was gone three weeks when I wasn't?"
"Err..." Somewhere a synapse fired just in time. "I mean, ha-ha, got cha."
So off she went leaving me in charge. Fortunately, she left me a lengthy list, which I started perusing: Trash goes out on Monday nights. Gardens need watering every Wednesday. Car needs gas when the needle drops to a quarter tank, not when it ceases going forward on the freeway...It all seemed doable so I went about my business, which, because my wife was gone, consisted mainly of sitting around in my underwear watching sports, drinking beer and eating all the stuff she left for me.
Fast forward eight days. What happened to all the food? I glanced at the list again. On page three it said: buy groceries as needed.
I scoured the cupboard. There was one can of reduced salt organic pea soup and a package of spotted blue bread. I opened the fridge. There were three bottles of beer, some cheese that matched the bread, and something in a Tupperware bowl that said: Eat Immediately. I sniffed it.
When I came to I tossed the Tupperware bowl toward the overflowing trash (did I miss Monday?) and headed off to the store. Halfway there I realized I forgot to put on pants. I wondered briefly (so to speak) if anyone would notice. Maybe I could wrap myself in recycling bags. Or use several carts.
I decided to race home and get dressed. I scoured my closet. Empty. There was a mound of items on the floor that looked like they had gotten into a barroom brawl. I perused the list again. On page six it said: Do laundry as needed. For heaven's sake, some of these items should have been boldfaced!
It took several minutes to find the laundry room. My wife had briefed me on the equipment -- something about pressing only certain buttons and using something sparingly. Water? I turned the water dial to low, crammed as much stuff as would fit, then put the rest on top so the lid would stay closed. I press a button and a green light came on. Wow that was easy.
I found some yoga pants in my wife's closet. They were a bit snug – oomph, errgg, umphhh – but my butt looked impressive in them.
I went back out to the car. It wasn't there. Had I left it running? Did I put it in park? Did I ever put gas in it? No! Ha! I walked down the block to the neighbor's house. Sure enough there it was safely on his lawn.
"Seeing as how you can't mow right now anyway, can I borrow the gas from your mower?"
When I got home I noticed how yellow all the plants looked. Odd? I'm not supposed to water until... Wait, what day is it?
I had trouble getting the front door open because the washer machine for some reason had left the laundry room and was now bouncing around the hall.
My phone rang. "Bonjour," my wife said. "How are things going?"
I was about to say fine when my phone went blank. I perused page nine: Be sure to charge your cell phone.
Oh well. I'll bet if I toast that bread it'll be just like new.