anyway. yesterday i had a very long day at work and by the time i got home around 9 o'clock the PMS goblins had majority rule in my brain and i pulled my occasional Fort Knox routine. (in short: no matter what technique is used to gain access, i make it absolutely impossible to get in.) i sat at the kitchen table and ate the pizza i picked up on my way home while reading the latest issue of Women's Health. Michael was on the couch catching up on Modern Family and (understandably) laughing his way through what i think was the season finale. it was hilarious but i refused to 1) let on that i was paying attention to anything other than my magazine or 2) crack a smile.
after it was over, Michael spent a while in the kitchen washing dishes—after putting on the Yankee game for me—and still i sat in silence, half-reading, half-watching the game. any questions he asked me i answered in five words or less. (right now, if my mother is reading this, she's having flashbacks to life with me circa 1992.)
eventually i got up, packed my gym back for the morning, got ready for bed and said a somewhat petulant goodnight to my husband.
i had barely gotten into bed with my book when i heard from the living room, "oh god! oh shit! Megs, you are not gonna like this!" the first thought that went through my head was: he spilled something on the laptop. (he'd been working on it when i'd said goodnight and his outburst had a panicky tinge.) so i was prepared to throw a fit when i walked back into the living room to see what was so wrong.
"it's a waterbug," he told me, standing in the middle of the room peering under the bookcase where the thing, i assumed, was lurking.
without breaking stride i turned right around and went back into the bedroom. "waterbug" is just another word for roach in my opinion. perhaps to an entomologist they're different, but not to me. i hadn't seen one in the apartment since last summer and that was rather traumatic. i was certainly not in the mood to deal with one last night.
i crawled right back into bed like the chicken i am. maybe 30 seconds later Michael yelled, "could i get a shoe maybe? so i can kill this thing?"
for the record, i did glance first at my collection of shoes in the closet. and while, yes, i do have a rather extensive collection of size-8½ Converse, the rest of my footwear is either flimsy or delicate. and god knows i did not want bug guts on the bottom of any of them. meanwhile, right there on the bedroom floor were Michael's blue Converse, the ones he's been talking about replacing anyway. so i grabbed one, chucked it into the living room without looking and hopped back into bed.
a few beats passed and then: "did you have to pick one i wear everyday?" he was, you could say, a bit exasperated.
jerk that i am, i was under the covers and trying my damnedest not to laugh. (what is wrong with me?) i was, in my defense, also feeling so thankful for having a man around to do these things. a year ago, i would've likely been alone when the bug attacked and would have had to frantically call Michael on his cell while running around my apartment shuddering and hopping and shrieking.
anyway, the "waterbug" was successfully eliminated from the planet, the sneaker was cleaned of bug parts and Michael actually laughed at the fact that i threw him his favorite Converse over any other shoe available.
he kissed me goodnight again, told me he hoped i felt better in the morning and went back out to the living room. me? i went to sleep—but not before saying a silent prayer of thanks for the fact that our marriage is legal and binding and, barring something truly drastic, he's stuck with me for life.
i also vowed to not be terrible again for a very, very long time.
mbm
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