It's Easter, Damn it.
I'm not religious.
Still.
When the phone rings at 11:00 Easter morning and I see by the caller ID that it's that chauvanistic marketing guy who entertains magazine writers and the like in strip clubs so Mr. Marketing can claim that he's helped someone build a lucrative business by drinking and getting hard-ons on someone else's dime, I'm suddenly not feeling very Eastery. I'm feeling like not answering the call.
I answer it anyway.
"Husband is out on the patio shoveling a path for the dog. I'll get him for you."
"No, no, that's okay. Happy Easter. Are you watching the Masters?"
"Um, no?"
I'm not into golf.
"You're kidding! It's wild! ... blah blah blah watching the Masters yada yada so incredible blah blah blah and so and so did such and whatever yadayada beef it up ramble blither-blather whatever yada very difficult yammeryammeryammer can't believe these guys..." ad nauseum until finally Husband comes in and I roll my eyes, purse my lips, and snort as I hand the phone to him without a goodbye to Mister Marketing. After all, he isn't my business associate.
Why do I hate this guy?
One reason: He once looked me square in the eye and uttered the words, "I don't objectify women. I just happen to like to watch the game on a big screen TV while topless women dance in the background."
To which I responded, "You're a self-contradictory asshole."
To which he responded, "No, really, I'm a nice guy."
Whatever.
So.
I start dressing the turkey, because, as all women know, all holidays are about slaving in the kitchen until a grand meal is on the table for all the family members who've sat on their asses doing nothing all day. The phone rings again. I see by the caller ID that it's Husband's ex.
During the call he asks me what time dinner will be served. I tell him, "Between 5:00 and 5:30, depending on the turkey." After he hangs up I ask him, "What was that about?" He says, "She's agreed to bring her truck over and help me move the refrigerator to the office right after dinner."
"On Easter Sunday?"
"I figured you'd be glad to get it out of here as soon as possible."
Seems I'll be washing up alone.
Pffft.
Still.
When the phone rings at 11:00 Easter morning and I see by the caller ID that it's that chauvanistic marketing guy who entertains magazine writers and the like in strip clubs so Mr. Marketing can claim that he's helped someone build a lucrative business by drinking and getting hard-ons on someone else's dime, I'm suddenly not feeling very Eastery. I'm feeling like not answering the call.
I answer it anyway.
"Husband is out on the patio shoveling a path for the dog. I'll get him for you."
"No, no, that's okay. Happy Easter. Are you watching the Masters?"
"Um, no?"
I'm not into golf.
"You're kidding! It's wild! ... blah blah blah watching the Masters yada yada so incredible blah blah blah and so and so did such and whatever yadayada beef it up ramble blither-blather whatever yada very difficult yammeryammeryammer can't believe these guys..." ad nauseum until finally Husband comes in and I roll my eyes, purse my lips, and snort as I hand the phone to him without a goodbye to Mister Marketing. After all, he isn't my business associate.
Why do I hate this guy?
One reason: He once looked me square in the eye and uttered the words, "I don't objectify women. I just happen to like to watch the game on a big screen TV while topless women dance in the background."
To which I responded, "You're a self-contradictory asshole."
To which he responded, "No, really, I'm a nice guy."
Whatever.
So.
I start dressing the turkey, because, as all women know, all holidays are about slaving in the kitchen until a grand meal is on the table for all the family members who've sat on their asses doing nothing all day. The phone rings again. I see by the caller ID that it's Husband's ex.
During the call he asks me what time dinner will be served. I tell him, "Between 5:00 and 5:30, depending on the turkey." After he hangs up I ask him, "What was that about?" He says, "She's agreed to bring her truck over and help me move the refrigerator to the office right after dinner."
"On Easter Sunday?"
"I figured you'd be glad to get it out of here as soon as possible."
Seems I'll be washing up alone.
Pffft.
posted by anonymous at 8:28 PM
2 Comments:
Lonely people.
Mr Gratuitous-flesh and Mrs Ex, both.
And good men like Husband are so aggravatingly clueless sometimes.
Huge hugs.
There in spirit when you start rinsing plates.
And I'll help you put them away...love...
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