The tree man had been in the yard with Gary, looking at the tree Monday’s storm knocked down. I hadn’t seen either of them for half an hour when the tree man was at the front door again, all alone.
He knocked, I answered, and he asked me, “Is that your husband?”
“What?”
“Is that your husband?”
“Who,” I asked, looking around. Is who my husband? Who are we talking about here?
“Is that your husband?”
Then I realized he meant “Is the man I was talking to half an hour ago (who is no longer in the vicinity) your husband, as opposed to your boyfriend or older brother?”
“Oh!” I said, “Yes, he is.”
“Well, I gave him the wrong copy.”
This week I have been wondering if “that man” is my husband. As soon as he finished watching every episode of Alias, he started assigning himself tasks. He’s done one thing every day this week. One day he mailed in his IRA rollover information, one day he got the tree estimate, one day he dealt with the phone guy (the storm took out the tree and the phone). And then today when I came home tired and cranky, he filled the dishwasher in response to my pointed stare at the sink of dirty dishes.
Our unspoken agreement is that all requests remain unspoken. I don’t like to nag, and Gary vehemently shut me down when I tried to have a conversation about the division of labor. However, pointed stares are met with action. I’ll need to summon up silent-movie drama stares to get the floor swept, though.
2 responses to “Is That Your Husband?”
Hmm. Pointed stares. Never thought of that.
Hattie – my stares are often so pointed Gary just begins to laugh. Recently he asked we to write something on a list he was closer to. I stared, at the list, at the pen, at him, until finally he began to laugh. (I still wrote on the list in high dudgeon.)