Waiting in Vain in a Van
When your spouse or significant other tells you something is only going to take “10 minutes”, is this a complete falsehood, or does matrimony/significantotherhood somehow cause you to lose all sense of time? All I know is, I’ve been sittin’ hear waiting for the wife for a helluva lot longer than 10 minutes - and I’m pretty sure I just saw a lone tumbleweed mosey past on my car. To be clear, I don’t think her inability to keep track of time is intentional; but in her line of work - Phd’n - you’d think she could give a better estimate of sands through the hourglass. The days of my life are often consumed by the miscalculation of how long it will take to de-gall him, appendecize her, and unconjoin them. I mean, when she schedules a surgery, does she schedule it for “About 2 hours, maybe longer”? Is that a time? Could you set an alarm for that? Is that a good time for running a mile? I don’t have time to explain it further.
To be honest - which doesn’t make what I said above a lie - it’s not like I’m on the money all the time with my guestimates as to how long something is going to take or last. Getting my son to school - Best guess: 15 minutes, Actual time: 25 minutes. Usually this delay occurs when I have to turn around before getting out of the hood, because my dumb ass forgot a certain Spiderman lunch receptacle, or the absolutely necessitated Abomination toy. Picking up Chinese food at the local MSG Palace – Best guess, 10 minit, Actual time: 20 minit. This is strange because, no matter what you order, the chick on the phone always tells rew “abow tin minit”. Now usually she’s a better guesser of time than a parole board. However, yesterday it did take tin minit longer, and this was after I went to the Swill Shoppe next door and bought my parents lubricant for their anniversary - i.e. alcohol, and not what you thought you were thinking perv. This is the first time she was off, and there was no expranation for this. Since this was her first offense, I let it go with out making a super terrific ordeal out of it.
Well the phone just quacked - it has now been 10 minutes by the way - and my wife says she left an unfinished Diet Sun Drop on the 6th Floor. She’ll have to call me back after retrieving it, and after she makes it back out to her potentially non-starting truck. So for those of you keeping score at home, 10 minutes today actually meant 25 for the return call, and possibly 10 more for the re-return call after fetching one’s cola of choice. That’s the way conjugality goes I guess. As some guy named Anonymous once said, “Marriage is like the army. Everybody complains, but you’d be surprised at how many re-enlist.”
