Where The Hell is My Husband?
Where the hell is Joe? What is taking him so long? I mean, really. I spend an enormous amount of time vibrating with anticipation, waiting for my husband, who is as chronically late as I am punctual. It is painful. Over the course of a 25-year relationship that has only seldom resembled Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I have learned that Joe and I conceptualize time completely differently. He attributes his lateness to being a Pisces, and he gets mad at me when I chide him, saying, “You have less time than you think.” If I want to start a "disagreement," uttering that admonition is a good way to provoke one. And I’d better not accuse him of dilly-dallying. Those are fighting words. When we have dinner plans, even if we are just going down the street, I start getting ready at least an hour before the reservation. Then, with 10 minutes left before we are due at the restaurant, Joe finally rallies and tells me he didn’t start earlier because he was waiting for me to finish...
