The husband says to me this morning “If you give up watching TV with me at night you’ll get an extra 2 or 3 hours.”
Now, I know my husband pretty well. I know what he really meant was “It’s okay if you write at night instead of sitting in the living room with me, staring at the TV and dissecting the shows during the commercials.” What he doesn’t get is that, after nearly eleven years, we’re barely clinging to our identity as a loving, married couple as it is. Co-parents, yes. Cohabitants, yes. Co-managers, yes. Husband and wife…getting fuzzy.
Sure, he’s in his recliner and I’m on the couch and we’re both engrossed in the idiot box, but I see this as our “deep breath” time. So he says, “watch the eight and nine o’clock shows, but write during the ten o’clock hour.”
My first thought: But CSI Miami! Without A Trace! I can’t do that!
His last words as he walked out the door to go to work: “Hey, if you wanna watch TV more than you want to be published, be my guest.”
(You CAN dent a steel door, FYI)
Well…I want to be published more than I want to be an unpaid, underappreciated home office manager, so who’s laughing now? HA!
Now I’m off to choke on my lesson for the day.