We shall continue with excerpts from the next chapter in the saga known as "Bob and Mary's Excellent Adventure.' The previous post got us started on this road to try to understand what the hell is going on with us.
Wednesdays are typically spent going to appointments, running errands, shopping, taking care of business that keeps a middle class existence humming along. Unfortunately, Mary and i seem to be living in an alternate universe where the life lines are sometimes twisted or knotted and the timelines are skewed a fraction off center so that there can be no parallel lines converging on that dot on the horizon, causing us to constantly view a lopsided version of the real world. If there is an unusual happening floating through the ether looking for a place to land, it will variably latch onto our unsuspecting alternate universe, making us ask the question, "Why us?"
This past Wednesday started out with the case of the missing trash can and went further sideways with each passing minute. Wednesday is the day we head to the "big city" to take care of most of the week's away-from-home chores as well as admit a couple of our hedonistic activities. I get my weekly massage, and Mary gets her hair done. That sounds simple enough on the surface, but accomplishing those two simple tasks can take an inordinate amount of time, planning, and cooperation among Mary's hair stylist, my massage therapist, and the both of us. Complicating the planning is the fact that we are only using one car to get from here to there and back to here and there.
So, we have to time it so Mary can drop me off (she usually drives) at the massage therapist's (I hate it when someone refers to it as the massage "parlor." It just sounds too creepy and somehow illegitimate and possibly illegal) and still get to her beauty "parlor" (doesn't the use of parlor in this instance bring back memories of the fifties and early sixties when women actually went there expecting to get beautiful as the name implies?). Now they go to a stylist who works on them in a salon. That means that I generally have 15-20 minutes to kill before I get therapies and a half hour or more to wait after I'm finished being tenderized. Mary and I stay in touch by texting or calling throughout these activities so we both know when she will pick me up. Cell phones are great, aren't they? What would we do without them?
I'll tell you what we would do without all that technology bulging in our pockets. We would spend the rest of the day wondering where she or he has gotten off to without checking in with the worried spouse. Or maybe we would just not pick up the phone when it rings or chirps or sings the Hallelujah Chorus. Maybe we misunderstood the time that she who was driving said she would be there to get me. There was no excuse for her making me wait longer than expected, and she did say she would text me when she was on her way. So, I waited patiently in the "quiet room" in that damned massage parlor, wondering if she forgot about me and went shopping. "Out of sight, out of mind" is her operating mantra. I'm sitting there in a soft marshmellowy rocking chair, trying to stay awake so I could be angry with her for ignoring me if I ever saw her again.
Just when I was about to dig my cell phone out of my pocket (you can ask why didn't I call or text her during that time - -uh, she said she was going to text me, no me text her. I always obey the rules), she strolled into my hideout in the "quiet room" looking for me and ruining a perfectly good dream about a gang of nymphs who had kidnapped and hauled me off into their lavishly appointed lair in the deep dark woods and were about to have their way with me.
Of course here first instinct was to blame me for not coming out to greet her when she arrived. "Why didn't you answer my text when I told you that I was on the way. I even tried emailing and calling you to let you know I was coming."
"I was waiting for your text, but you forgot about me." I was whining and trying to appear put out by her being late, but oh those nymphs were getting warmed up. I hate to be ill mannered when nymphs are involved.
I didn't forget about you. I even got there early and was waiting out in the parking lot for the past 15 minutes, wondering what was taking you so long." She wasn't being overly nasty with me as she had every right to be. Maybe she was having a dream of her own while waiting for me. I bet her dream involved...no I won't go there. her dreams probably have too much PG stuff anyways to be be interesting.
"Let me see your phone for a second." She asked politely so I had to give it to her. "You dummy! No wonder you didn't my messages. Your phone is turned off." She didn't seem particularly surprised by that fact because she knows that i don't know how to turn the damn thing on or off. It just happens that way sometimes. Shit happens, especially when it involves technology and my ignorance of all things that ooze out of that particular hole in my alternate universe, making my stepping into a puddle of the sticky, sinking stuff inevitable. No good can come from technology stuff. Use it your own risk.
Now let's go get some lunch...