Do You Ever Hear What I Say?

I can be somewhat anal about a few things. One of my pet peeves is when I am talking and the person to whom I’m speaking is not listening. I know. That sounds sorta diva-ish, doesn’t it? Next thing you know I’ll be requiring that the space heater in my office be turned on prior to my arrival at work and that my morning mug of coffee, with 1 tsp. each of Splenda Blend and milk, is smiling at me from the coaster on my desk. Luckily, I’m not a diva and there are only a few things which really bug me.

My husband is great at many things. He is hard working with not even the tiniest smidgen of laziness, active in the community, an excellent teacher, a fabulous historian and storyteller, and ABOVE ALL a terrific father. He is, however, the absolute worst listener on this rock!

Remember how I asked him for a specific bottle of perfume for Christmas? Yep, turns out he didn’t pay attention TWICE and got it wrong. I had asked for a bottle of Irresistible by Givenchy “just like Debbie wears.” When he couldn’t remember the name – he thought I had said Invisible- he went and asked her what she wore. She explained that there were different fragrances in that line and that she always buys the purple bottle. I ended up with the pink.

This past Tuesday afternoon we travelled a couple hours down the road to pick up a little Craigslist find. It was cheap enough so I didn’t mind the drive. In preparing to go I asked my husband to take care of two things. Two. Dos. Deuce. Stop by the ATM and get some cash and pack the tarp, as I warned it might rain. I would meet him at my parents after dropping off Ren and we would go from there.

To make a long story short, he neither had the money or the tarp so we ended up spending 30 minutes exiting off the interstate to go into a town and find a bank and then, less than a minute after getting back on the interstate, it started to rain. So, we had to spend another 30 minutes getting off at the next exit and going into the next town to find a place that sold tarpaulins.

Sitting in the passenger side of a somewhat cramped Ford truck, driving around looking for a hardware store (we weren’t in a one horse town, but I thought finding one was going to be somewhat of a challenge), an old Far Side came to mind. It was actually my very favorite of all the Far Side comics.

A woman and her husband are trapped in their bomb shelter after a nuclear explosion, surrounded by hundreds of canned goods .

... "How many times did I say it, Harold? How many times? Make sure that bomb shelter's got a can opener -- ain't much good without a can opener, I said!"...