I told my husband, "I'm going to work Thursday, come home and feed the dogs, get my bags, and go to Matt's."
Tuesday of that week Jimmy said, "So, what are you going to do, take off work?"
"No," I explained, patiently. "I'm going to go to work, come home, feed the dogs, get my bags, and then go."
Wednesday the same conversation: "So, what's your plan on Thursday? Are you going straight to Dallas from work?"
"No, I'm coming home, feeding the dogs, getting my bags, and then going."
Thursday morning before I left for work, I kissed him goodbye and told him to call me when he got home that night. He works nights and when he drives his motorcycle I always like to know that he made it home okay. "Don't worry about the dogs. I will feed them before I go," I told him.
Late Thursday evening I am sitting in my son's front room, or the "man cave," watching his expansive TV, and my phone rings. It's Jimmy the hubs checking in.
During the course of our conversation he mentions that he is feeding the dogs.
"What? I already fed them!" I cry.
"Well, they are eating. They acted like they were hungry!"
Those little posers. Just put the old sad eyes on Dad and he will feed you again, they conspired. AND, who didn't hear me not once but at least THREE times say that I would feed the dogs before driving to Dallas?
But, I'm not complaining. That's just how it is here in married land. I fought it for at least twenty years but hey, who's counting? At least it wasn't medication, and it keeps life entertaining. And my dogs a little on the plump side. Like Mommy and Daddy.
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| Look at those innocent faces! |