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, even though I'd long since finished and we have separate sinks.

The clock ticks, and I start tapping my watch.

If I rush him, it makes matters far worse.

Sometimes I give in to the urge to rush him, and sometimes, when I am waiting in the car in the driveway for him to appear, I say the Serenity Prayer. “Grant me the serenity to accept Joe’s lateness.” 

This is especially true when we are en route to the airport. Joe is OK with arriving at the airport half an hour before an international flight leaves. 

Another manifestation of our differing views of time becomes apparent when we are on vacation. He wakes slowly and likes me to bring him his coffee while he goes through his emails and checks off work items on his list in the morning. I am busy getting ready and want to make the most of our day. Sometimes I go down to the hotel lobby, or, if we are in New York, I roam the streets, waiting for him.

Movies are another ball of wax. I like to arrive at the theater on time and watch the previews. Joe always reminds me that if a movie is scheduled to start at 2 pm, there are at least 15 minutes of previews before the film begins.

I prefer to use those 15 minutes to enjoy the coming attractions and get in the zone. Joe is on his phone during that period.

Despite these misalignments, it is worth waiting for Joe. Unlike the titular figure in Samuel Beckett’s existentialist masterpiece Waiting for Godot, my Joe eventually shows up and looks damn good when he arrives. 

That beats being on time any day.

Worth waiting for:
my dashingly handsome husband

--
Don't go anonymous: Please type your name after your comments. It's as simple as that.