It's On Like Donkey Kong

My sweet husband. I love him, but he is a hot mess.

I took him to the airport early yesterday morning. You know you’ve grown comfortable in marriage when you’re as self conscious as I am and can still roll out of bed at 5am in your sweatpants, splash some coffee in a couple of travel mugs, and slap some over-sized eye glasses over your mascara-smeared face, and out the door you go.

This is one of the few moments you don’t mind long lines. It just prolonged our time together. Given that American and Frontier just merged, the line to get through security was eternal. Fine by me!

I was strong. Like a rock. Laughing. Knocking out last-minute details as we inched our way forward. Trying to disregard the much younger and put-together woman in line behind us with whom my husband was already conversing and flashing his big blue eyes. I was good up until we reached the rope divider and I realized this was it. He kissed my forehead. I melted. Dang it. A tide of tears suddenly streaming down my cheeks. I watched him disappear through security and instantly the walls grew tall and dark around me. The air became abruptly cold. I felt very small and alone. 

As one might imagine, I was an emotional disaster for the rest of the day. Unwilling and unable to do anything productive, I curled up in a ball of blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace and tried to numb my emotions through mindless Internet searches. I left my nest in alternate attempts to find something to eat and get more toilet paper for the snot bubbles I kept accidentally smearing across my face and into my hair. Too depressed to leave the house, I ate what I could find--a half cup of questionable cottage cheese, some key lime yogurt, and a jar of pickled okra.

Patrick finally called that afternoon. I asked him how his morning went. He gave me some vague answer. So I asked him more pointedly what I really wanted to know. “Did you cry when I left?” 

He said, “Yeah, I did while going through security.” And then there was a long pause. 

I knew where this was going. “Did you end up sitting with that girl in line behind us?” I asked.

“No, she was flying somewhere else.” 

Interesting. They must have had a conversation after I left. He finally said, “You really want to know what happened next?”

I said, “Sure.” He proceeded to tell me that when he sat down on the airplane some other cute younger woman took the seat next to him. 

Now allow me to clarify. Patrick’s secret weapon is his charm. You can sit down next to him without even noticing him, but his charm is magnetic. He can pull anything out of anybody.

They were chatting along when the stewardess stopped and said, “Sir, as military personnel you are able to sit in first class. May I show you to your seat?” Looking at the woman next to him he was so enjoying, he said, “No, that’s okay. I’ll just stay here.” She said, “Are you traveling together? Two seats are available, so you can sit together.” 

He looked at her, she looked at him, and he said, “Do you want to sit in first class?” 

She said, “Sure.” 

And off they went together to share a morning flight that probably went by a little too fast. 

In other words, while I was a blubbering mess, he had already transferred his attention to a pretty young woman to stroke his ego and paint that big smile across his face.

I sucked it up after that phone call. Did a little housework. Picked up my son, went to the grocery store, cooked him a nice meal, and face planted in the couch by 10:00. At 11, my son woke me to go to bed. He said, “Mom, your neck is going to hurt really bad if you sleep like that all night.” And as I snuggled my way into our bed sheets without the ceiling fan going for once (Ha! So there!), a warm, familiar scent lifted up out of the pillow and caused my heart to flutter.

Grrrrr. He sprayed his cologne on my pillow before he left. It’s on like Donkey Kong!

My grandfather always said that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. I do have to say, we’re pretty egalitarian around here. He’d better watch it! So I’m thinking his first care package will be a photoshopped picture of me with my arms around a smiling, thumbs-up Bradley Cooper, and his own pillow that smells like me.