It’s been Six Days Now.

My wife has gone to Swaziland, Africa to volunteer her time to benefit the thousands of orphans that have been left in the wake of the highest concentration of AIDS on the planet. This desire to help others is one of the things that I love about her.

In her absence, I have begun to notice that certain things around the house that I had never  noticed before. Things that need to be done around the house apparently require someone to do them. I had never really considered some of these things before. I guess when you have been married to someone for over twenty years, it’s easy to start taking all the things that they do for granted.

On day six of my wife being gone, I pulled In the driveway and happened to notice that metal box on the wooden post that I always mow around. I remembered that it had something to do with mail (the non-electronic type). I decided to get out of the truck and investigate . . . seems like my wife is always walking out to this lawn obstacle for some reason. I opened the little door that I found on the front of it and discovered it to be stuffed with mail. . . and by stuffed, I mean the mail person must have had to use their foot to pack it all in. I took all of the contents into the house. I think I just did what is referred to as “getting the mail”.

Later on day six, I got out of the shower and went to grab a Q-tip, but there were none. Apparently she took them with her to Africa. I would have been angry, but then I imagined the all the little African children getting their ears Q-tipped for perhaps the first time ever by my wife. . . . I was glad to give up the Q-tips. The odd thing is, I kept thinking that I would have to suffer with ear debris until she brought the Q-tips back from Africa. It didn’t immediately occur to me that I could go buy more Q-tips . . . I’m just not usually the Q-tip purchaser.

On Day seven, I had run out of clean socks and underwear, and had to decide between buying new, clean socks and underwear or attempt a load of laundry. I reasoned that doing laundry couldn’t be all that hard, so I took my pile of socks and underwear down to the washer.

I remembered that when my wife does the laundry, she always talks about how important it is to sort it according to color, so I began making piles of all the different colors. There as a fairly large pile of clothes with green grass stains on them. another pile of red ketchup/salsa/spaghetti sauce stained clothes would possibly make up another load, but then, there were a few very small piles. The yellow mustard stain pile only had a half washer load in it, and the purple Kool-Aid stain pile had a single shirt and one sock in it. I wondered how long it must take to save up enough yellow and purple stained clothes to make up a full washer load, but these questions would have to wait until my wife returned to be answered. I focused on grass and ketchup stained piles of clothing.

As for our two teenage daughters, who knows what types of murderous behavior they have been getting away with. They keep asking me if they can do this, or go there, or buy that. Unfortunately, I do not know the answer to most of these questions. They have quickly learned to read the unsureness on my face and hit me with a “mom always lets me” whenever they think my  answer might not be leaning in their favor. . . . I’m thinking I should start a list of things that mom supposedly lets them do so I can check when she gets home.

It’s still a week until she gets home. I think we will survive . . . . But PLEASE, my darling wife, don’t get eaten by a lion or hippo. I can’t stand the thought of these questions going unanswered for the rest of my life.

By the way, if you are reading this, and know my wife well enough know where she keeps that sticky cat hair remover roller for clothes thingy . . . . could you tell me where it is? I always just ask her and she goes somewhere in the house and comes back with it.



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