Mr. Husband is usually blissfully ignorant of anything I do that doesn’t involve him, until now. Since I started this blog, writing has become fun again. A few days ago, a writing exercise turned into a short story. Its incredible fascinating and I’ve spent every waking minute of free time on it. Camped in my new laz-z-boy lounger I bought about six months ago (why this happened is another story), I scribble away. Eventually it sifted into my consciousness that the hub-man was walking back and forth through the den on his way to the kitchen staring at me quizzically, each time walking a little more slowly.
Curiosity overwhelmed him on about the 7th pass. “Whatcha doin?” he says in a sing-song voice. I looked up at him, “writing” and went back to the notebook. A few seconds tick by, “whatcha writing about?” “Oh nuthin, just a short story”. Hubby wrinkles his forward and cocks his head like our mini schnauzer. “Why?” A truly heartfelt question. “Well I just felt liking doing it.” A few more seconds, “What you writing about?” “Just stuff, it’s a short story, babe. If you’re really nice to me I might let you read some of it.” He rolls his eyes and goes back to the bedroom to resume his Xbox football game. He is, of course, the greatest coach of all time in this fantasy league, and master of his universe.
I paused and thought . Hmm, maybe I should continue to be vague, at least it gets him up and moving around. When he runs out of excuses to go in the kitchen, he might just start putting some of his stuff away that lies cluttered around the den. He won’t be able to stay out of here if I’m wrapped up in this, instead of worshipping at his feet. Why didn’t I think of this before?