Gifts

I packed a suitcase and hanging bag for my husband, who left to speak at a conference today. I walked him to the car and came right back and informed our dog that I was going to the grocery store to get her food and she tried to run away from home. She only made it to the elevator. Her message is that you don’t get up, pack a bag and leave me here alone. Of course she is a herder, Aussie X.

Late afternoon my dearest love, husband of ten years and a man who has not packed a suitcase in 11.5 years, called to tell me he got there OK. Not only that…..

He hung all the clothes in the closet and put everything else into drawers in the hotel room.

Women, take note. It took less than twelve years to achieve this transformation from clean pile/dirty pile to actually unpacking for two nights. He’ll be cooking for me in another decade or two. His mother (we talked for two hours last night) says that will wait until he retires. By that time I’ll probably be in the retirement home sipping boxed chicken broth through a straw.

I’m always made fun of for unpacking into hotel drawers and closets immediately after arriving, but it does have a purpose. I packed his bag yesterday morning and it was like a Cecil B. DeMille movie gone bad, where the bathing beauties didn’t dive into the pool every 1/4 second and didn’t exactly swim in a synchronized fashion.

Now J has his phone charger and everything else where he needs them. I’m so proud. Just to let you know, I only have a mild version of this disease. My dear Aunt actually re-arranges furniture and wall hangings in hotel rooms. She went to a museum and got a print to tape over my mother’s hospital room picture because the morphine was giving Mom nightmares which that particular picture exacerbated.

I can’t wait until he starts doing the laundry and cleaning out the frig. A wife can dream, can’t she? Y’all have a great day. It’s 5:30 and I think I’ll get the flashing collar and take out the dog because she’s herding me again. Some things never change. Dee