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.
She has been gone six days now.
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.
I just pulled In the driveway and happened to notice that metal box on the wooden post that I always weed-whack 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 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”.
I got out of the shower yesterday 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.
But 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 occur to me that I could go buy more Q-tips . . . I’m just not usually the Q-tip purchaser.
And the girls, who knows what types of murderous behavior that are getting away with. They keep asking me if they can do this, or go there, or buy that. I think they can read the unsureness on my face.
When they see this unsureness on my face, they have already learned to quickly hit me with a “mom always lets me”. . . . I’m thinking I should start a list of things that mom 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 dearest, don’t get eaten by a lion or hippo!
By the way, if you are reading this, and you 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.