The Husband was home for just over 24 hours this weekend.
This was both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because, hey we missed him and the washing machine and stuff needed fixing.
A curse because, hey we screwed up a little. Okay, I screwed up a little.
I was in the CBD and the traffic on the one-way was hideous, tempers were frayed and no-one cared that I was trying to reverse park in a teeny tiny spot.
In a desperate effort to avoid a collision with a very angry taxi driver, I shoved the car in reverse and hit a pole that I swear wasn’t there a second before.
I had hoped he wouldn’t notice.
Hope is not a strategy.
On Friday at commuter rush hour 5pm, I arrived to collect The Husband from the train station.
In front of the crowd of onlookers who all stopped to watch with undisguised mirth, he exploded.
TH: “WTF? My car! Tell me someone drove into you. Tell me someone drove into you.”
Me: “I can’t. That would be a lie.”
TH: “I can’t believe you drove into a tree! In my car!”
Me quietly: “It wasn’t a tree.” TH: “What?”
The Husband stalked to the passenger side of the car and stopped in horror.
Onlookers now recording this on YouTube.
TH: “Where are the panels on the side of my car?”
Me: “We’ve been through this. They fell off before you left. We had a conversation about it and you said you knew.”
TH: “It wasn’t this bad. Not a bloody gaping hole in the side of the car!”
Me: “Get in the goddamn car or go back to the airport buddy.”
The homecoming wasn’t too great either.
However, at some point the fan in the refrigerator had stopped working, the rain had turned our porch into a swamp and the washing machine was spewing suds forth all over the floor.
I tried to be patient. I did.
I get jet lag and that after two weeks in 5 star luxury, peace and quiet etc. that a home with three kids on half term is like diving from heaven straight into the depths of hell.
On the flip side, I’ve been a single parent for 2 weeks solid with no domestic worker and a new job, so my stress levels are approaching red line emergency status.
The Husband left yesterday morning for a week in some African country.
I can’t keep track if this one is at war, recovering from war or under the threat of Islamic terrorism. In case of the latter I made sure The Husband had memorized the name of the Prophet’s mother – Amina.
As for the new job…
Well, I had a great view, but lost my window seat this morning in some strange and meaningless desk shuffle that involved all of us wandering around holding our Apple Mac’s and looking lost until we found our new desks.
So far, the work has been fun, the people are great, despite the fact that a disproportionately large number of employees are currently off on a mental health sabbatical or have scrawled goodbye letters in permanent markers on their office doors.
I have my towel. I will not panic.
If all else fails I will drown myself in the large pool of plastic bouncy balls.