So my husband’s birthday is next week. And I have been seeing a LOT of him lately. I mean, a LOT. Literally, every time I turn around, there he is! Morning, noon and night. He’s there!
And honestly, it’s weird. I mean, it’s fine. Ok, it’s weird.
In the beginning, he started each day at the dining room table, eating a large bowl of his signature Frosted Mini-Wheats and Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal combination.
Then he would go to work. At the same dining room table. Which was covered with my favorite retro chic tablecloth. Which he now covered with papers. Also, at least two computer screens. Two phones. And cords. Lots and lots of cords.
It’s fine. Really. He does take bike rides.
After several weeks of this, he decided — of his own free will, mind you — he wanted a change in scenery. So after enjoying his bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats/Reece’s Puffs (like I said, he was ready to mix things up), he set up shop on the ping pong table in the basement.
That lasted two weeks. He is now back at the dining room table. I suspect he missed the mailman. And that’s fine. He can work wherever he wants here as long as it’s not in my office. And before you judge, please keep in mind: Frank has worked from home for just under two months. I’ve worked here more than 25 years. I have dibs.
I honestly don’t think he would want to work in here anyway. For starters, space is limited. He would have to clear a spot on my extra work table, which is currently covered with papers, burning candles, a bottle of disinfectant, used tissues and my jump rope, which I employ in short spurts throughout the day.
Second, safety. It’s hard enough keeping our dog Pickles, my current officemate, out of the path of my jump rope. Frank’s presence would almost certainly result in an OSHA violation.
Finally, music. Since Frank has been home, I strategically listen to Barry Manilow’s "Greatest Hits" at least once a day, as well as this other playlist list I created of Michael Jackson singing the theme song from “Free Willy” eight times in a row. Sometimes I play it twice. It’s the perfect rope-jumping/husband-repelling tune!
Long story short: I don’t think he will be joining me in here any time soon. My point is, I can be a lot. Sometimes on purpose. Still, next week is Frank’s birthday. And he recently put air in my bike tires. Plus, he does ALL the laundry, as well as some dishes — all while NOT watching a single live Liverpool soccer match. He deserves a good birthday present.
Instead, he survives two months with me at home, and all he is gets is this lousy column.