Hypothetically Speaking
Vernon Serif

Hi Ho, Hi Ho

Of course, Steve's version of Tradeshowgate - if he cared enough to have one, which he doesn't - would probably start with him telling me that he was going to a trade show for something or other at the end of January, progress to his sending me an Outlook invite to said trade show and end with his tuning me out as I yapped at him about it in the car. I would think he was wrong (he never told me;) he would think I was flaky (he might have told me) and we would both have been Minnesotan, excuse me, passive-aggressive in never seeking to clarify the exact nature of a looming event in our shared calendar.

It works for us? I don't know. I was smiling, you know all exasperatedly, when I wrote about it and Steve did kiss me goodbye at o'dark-thirty this morning after making an effort not to wake me up as he made coffee and put on his socks.

"Surf drively," I muttered affectionately and promptly fell back asleep. 

I spent part of the morning not getting the tax stuff organized. Instead I read up on the all the hype leading to the fifth round FA cup draw and... ohhhhhhhhhhhhh. I get it! I am sorry that I said that Steve said it wasn't important. In my defense I am new to this and I simply didn't understand. It turns out that the FA cup is just like March Madness: many teams winnowed down to fewer teams, sudden death matches, tremendous upsets. And to think that I was in love with football before. All I need now is to get in on some kind of money pool and and and. I cannot even complete that sentence, my mind is too boggled. 

So, anyway, when Chelsea lost to Bradford City it was like when Duke... good god could these analogies for Chelsea get any worse? First the Patriots and now Duke. Duke. But I don't care. I have a babysitter - an honest to god babysitter - coming on Saturday morning so that I can go to a proper bar and watch Chelsea v Man City with other proper football fans. I mean other proper football fans and Steve, of course. He has to drive. And keep me from rioting. 

Go West Brom. And Cambridge United (just imagine the headlines, Toni: Cambridge United Stuns Arsenal in FA Cup Final, CU Toilets to Resemble Taj Mahal.)

PS Sarah wanted to know if Steve is so disconnected from the daily routine that his absence does not require advance planning. The short answer yes, I guess so. Not that he doesn't drive Patrick to early morning science bowl practice or do bedtime for Caroline and Edward or take the kids to skiing or make dinner (Game Night - it has a whole different meaning than what I hoped. No Carcassonne and I eat soup) or pick up from school if he can and I need him to do so, but for the most part the household runs the same whether Steve is here or not. Of course, if he disappeared entirely we would be homeless and starve to death so it is not that his role (in addition to all that squishy love we have for and from him) is not vital, just that the day-to-day responsibilities are mine.

I would think this is true for most [insert your personally least offensive description for those who do not earn money outside the home] parents, though, no? I kinda picture it like a big wall of things needed to be done on one side and a big wall of the money needed to do them on the other and a set amount of time that two people use to divvy up the two walls. Generally, I sit in line at the CVS pickup window waiting for prescriptions to be filled while Steve works because that is the best use of our collective time but lately he has also been doing the evening house stuff so that I can write. 

I don't know. How do you do it? (Oh and by "it" I don't mean you+other and kids/house/money. I mean you with or without other and whatever/money - our garden here has many different blooms, I know.)

[Secret Message to S: I wasn't kidding about the Italian Beef. From Portillos. Dry. Hot. No cheese.]

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