Routine tasks may become more complicated than they should. They can turn into something you didn’t expect.

 

You make plans, but then your wife tells you . . .

 

 

He’s My . . .

 

     Summer had just begun. The heat was unbearable. I sat at my desk, on Friday morning, staring at the calendar on my iMac. I’ve got to get the cars serviced, I thought. So I called and made an appointment for the following Friday.

     Friday arrived. I got up early, went into the kitchen for some juice, and called to Jane. “Jane let’s go. We’re going to be late for our 9:30 am appointment at the car dealership.”

     “I’m coming. I’ve got to get the tennis shoes I need to return to the Shoe Emporium at the mall.”

     “Does that take priority over getting the cars serviced?” She didn’t respond, and . . .

     “My cars going in first. Right?”

     “Yeah. Right.”

     “And we’re going to Madeleine’s Café for breakfast while they work on my car?”

     “That’s the plan, as we’ve always done. Then they’ll service my car.”

     “So after my car is finished, Don, I’m going to the mall.”

     “But what about me?”

     “You? What about you? You’ll just wait in the waiting area for your car to be finished.”

     “But what if it takes longer than I want it to?”

     “Then go with me to the mall.”

     “I don’t want to go to the mall. I want to go home and watch the baseball game. It starts at noon. Then the dealership will call me when my car is ready and you can drive me back to get it.”

     “What am I, your chauffeur?”

     “Well, no. But I thought you were my kind, loving wife.”

     “I was, but I’m not your servant.”

     “Was? You’re impossible, Jane.”

     “And you’re unreasonable, Don. Maybe it’s time for a divorce.”

     “Divorce? We’ve been married twenty-nine years. How can you think about a divorce?”

     “If not a divorce, will you give me a raise?”

     “A raise? You don’t work for me.”

     “I don’t? I’ll show you my job description.”

     “Job what?”

     “You heard me—job description—that is, cook, maid, waitress, seamstress, and sex provider . . .”

     “Sex what?”

     “Provider, my dear.”

     “I thought you enjoyed our bed fun.”

     “No comment.”

     “No . . . comment?”

     “That’s right.”

     “This conversation is getting out of hand, Jane.”

     “Then talk to my lawyer.”

     “You’re not serious, are you?”

     “Here’s his card?”

     “How long have you been seeing him?”

     “For over for six months.”

     “You’re kidding. Why so long?”

     “He’s my . . . sex provider!”

     

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.