“While the cat’s away, the mice will play”. So they say. I’d rather be the cat on some days though; having someone hot on my trail can be oh, so exhausting! On the other hand, if I were the cat, I’d get to pounce on those poor little mice, scare them half to death, bring them just to its brink, and let them off the hook…that is, until I am ready to begin the tryst all over again. Doesn’t that sound like fun?
Mice hardly seem popular among most folk, so my bet is that given a choice, we’d prefer being cats. After all, they seem to call the shots in this whole cat and mouse thing. This is why hubby thinks he’s in charge. I told him that he can make all the big decisions – every last one of them – but after nearly sixteen years, I have yet to tell him when one needs to be made. So much for being in charge.
Much like a cat though, he gets to pursue me on most days, but while he’s away, I carry on like a mouse with little concern for time or “being caught”, mostly because I don’t have to worry about ever getting trapped, really. I mean who would want to dispose of me, cute as I am? Me-Ow!
So, while the cat takes some time off, I get “carried away” in the strangest of ways:
- I catch up on Downton Abbey episodes without interruption from some loudmouth sports announcer screaming like he’s talking to a bunch of idiots, and better yet, without hearing some dumb question about “what the heck are you watching”! Shut up Sylvester, this is my show. I’m already three seasons behind. Hello! Any DA fans out there?
- I stay up later than usual, with books and papers strewn all over our bed, trying to get ahead of myself for the next day. Though I don’t have to entertain questions about what time I’m coming to bed, or about throwing some dirt over that bright light once and for all, this really boils down to an exercise in futility anyway. Instead, I crash…lights, papers, and all!
- I work a heck of a lot harder in the home with no one to tell me “baby, slow down” or “get off your feet for a while”. With no one to empathize, I briskly get through abundant laundry, meals, cleaning and organizing of all varieties.
- I take my time at the local thrift store and buy something at a deep discount, without husband raising an eyebrow about its origin being less than savory. Tsk, tsk! My thriftiness scored me a sweet deal of a pair of damn-near-new designer jeans for $5, and a top for $8. According to my Math, I thought I was in the hole for $13, but when I got to the counter, and the lady said, “that will be $9, Ma’am”, I thought I had hit the jackpot! Who knew it was orange sticker day? Not hubby, that’s for sure.
- I multitask like mad! It makes my husband absolutely bananas to see me managing more than one thing at a time. He declares, “you’re expanding your empire again”. At least he knows who the Queen is! So, while he’s gone, coffee is a’ brewing while water is a’ boiling while clothes are drying while Thing 1 is a’ showering, all while I’m a’ blogging. Makes me tired now that I put it that way.
- I indulge in a full-dairy (albeit fat-free) beverage from the local coffee shop. Oh, did I mention that I am lactose intolerant? I suppose it’s just as well that he’s sleeping in a different bed tonight!
I truly do miss my husband when he’s away (okay, maybe after two days or so), but the absence brings us closer each time he returns. We have our unique likes and dislikes, and that’s perfectly fine. Though I get “carried away” in my own quirky ways when he’s away, I appreciate his attentiveness when he is home. His love for me is truly unconditional, and I know that. He guards after my heart and wellbeing as he does only to make sure that I don’t wear myself down in the process of trying to get it all done.
I love that he loves me this way, but in the meantime…
…one fat-free cappuccino coming right up! Take that puddy tat!