GMR just returned from a trip to South Louisiana–Baton Rouge & Paulina–where he visited with friends from his high school days at Fortier HS in New Orleans, and even more important, where he saw for the first time his son’s new baby Ian Paul. Now between us we have four grandkids!
I wasn’t able to go on this trip, and while here alone, I notice how without GMR goading/reminding me to eat (or to cook it himself *haw*) I do not do so well with eating “right.” In fact, I was watching OWN’s Super Skinny vs Super Size and when the doctor told one of the young women she was eating an amount a four year old would eat, I noticed it looked more than I’d had – lawd!
Mostly, I ate sandwiches, followed by baked potato, followed by canned soup/tuna. In other words, the quickest crap I could pull together. Now, less you think I ate unhealthy crapadoodle-doodoo; I really did not, for I had yogurt and lots-o-fruit and such. But, I just do not eat enough or a variety of foods when left to my own devices.
While he is gone the house stays spotless. He’s going to read this and go, “Hey!” and give me one of his looks of disbelief and woebegonity and all that jazz. But it is true. I clean the house the day he leaves and it stays the same until he returns when all hell breaks loose. Quit looking at me like that GMR. It’s true.
On the flipside, he does his own laundry (but hey, so do I, just sayin!), and there are things that I don’t have to do because he most all the time does them first: empties the dehumidifiers, puts out and takes in the bird feeders and such and all, cooks real food, puts gas in my car, “makes groceries.” That’s another thing—when he isn’t here I become completely reclusive. I mean more than usual. I will walk the dogs in the cove, but my car does not move from its spot the entire time he’s gone unless there is some really important reason for me to leave—and not having any real food in the house wouldn’t be one of them, for I’d just find some sumpin to throw on a plate.
He returned last night, and already this morning he is itching to go to The Grocery. He calls it “the grocery” – I hear that in New Orleans people a lot. “I’m going to The Grocery now.” When I wrote “going to grocery” in my novel(s), a beta reader said, “don’t you mean “to the grocery store?” Naw. Just to The Grocery, or to Make Groceries, because I am honoring GMR and his late momma, who also said “zink” instead of “sink.”
While he is gone, I have the entire bed to myself. Thing is, I really only put a foot or arm over there every so often just because I can, but mainly I am so used to being scrunched on one side I sleep like that even when he’s gone. But, it’s the IDEA that I have the entire bed to myself where if I wanted to wallow around and toss about and flail and spread out by golly gee I could!
One morning I was late with the squirrel feeder seed and the bird seed. I slept in until almost eight—yeah “slept in” means different things at different ages, huhn—so, this bird kept screeching outside my window, “GET UP! GET UP! GET YOUR LAZY ARSE UP!” I stumbled to turn on the coffee, and in my robe and slippers, went out to feed the critters. There was a little red squirrel sitting on top of the sunflower seed can, eyeing me pitifully as if to say, “YOU LAZY ARSE! FEED ME FEED ME!” He jumped to the side when I opened the can, and then proceeded to hang on the edge, looking down into the can in a, “Hurry it up, woman,” I said, “Well, geez, give me a chance . . .” Then he followed me across the railing as I deposited King Squirrel’s breakfast upon its throne. Geez. It looked at me as if to say, “GMR would NEVER sleep in. He delivers our victuals promptly.”
GMR says I never miss him while he’s gone. That’s not true, but it sort of kind of is true (oh oh, he’s going to read this and get that look!). I love GMR, but I am a creature who must have her Space. I must have alone time. I require being Very Very Much Completely Alone, and I do not have that often because GMR is always here (that look again). So, when he goes to Louisiana, I kinda sorta don’t miss him but instead revel in my complete aloneness—unless I have a nightmare, then I am lying in the dark going, “Wish GMR were here. Dang. Sure is dark. Dang. That nightmare skeered the beejeezuz out of me. Dang.” But when morning shines, I’m all, “Aw, who needs GMR? I got this.”
Right now, I’m feeling like that squirrel. GMR is going to The Grocery to make groceries (sometimes pronounced “Grot’tries”) and I am sitting on the edge of the feedcan looking down going, “Hurry up! Whoop! Where’s my food? Hurry hurry!” So, I guess he’s okay to have around and all—you know, at night when I have a nightmare, and when I should be eating regular meals that consist of something cooked hot and steamy on the stove. I suppose it’s okay to have someone to go, “Did you see that? Omg! Hahahaha! That was funny!” or “Did you hear that? I can’t believe he/she said that! Omg!” or “Hey, I’m hungry.”
I guess this old marriage thing has its purposes.
(photos by Kat, friend, or purchased from istock)