I think Dave and I both had the good sense to see it coming.  By “it” I mean the palpable tension that arises about this time each summer when Dave is not working and I am slaving away.  I know all about teachers and summer.   I come from a family of teachers who enjoyed their summers off… from their primary jobs.  My father taught high school and in the summers had a landscaping business; Mom was a nursery school teacher and worked at summer camp so that my brother, sister and I could go.  Dave is also extremely motivated in the summer… to work as little as possible.

So when a buddy called a month or so ago and asked him to go surfing in Costa Rica for this particular week, one which coincided with the boys being away, we pondered it for only a few minutes:

Dave’s thought bubble:  Awesome.  A week of surfing and I don’t have to feel guilty about leaving the boys with Em!

My though bubble:  Awesome.  I will be ready to kill him at precisely this point in the summer and this will save him from death by spousal contempt and spare me from a life in Cell Block H.

Done deal.

I try hard not to begrudge his free time; I do so much better when it’s not staring me in the face.  He almost died one day last week when after spending the entire morning chained to my laptop working, I emerged briefly to run downstairs to make some lunch before continuing my drudgery.  There was a container of hummus I had been fantasizing about for the last hour.  Dave had done pretty much nothing all morning and was sitting on the sofa watching TV with the dog. A dirty plate sat in front of him.  And suddenly I knew.

Is there any hummus left?

Uh, I ate it.

How about the guacamole?

Sorry I finished that too.  Do you want me to run out and get you some more?

NO!  I WANT THE HUMMUS NOW AND I DON’T WANT YOU TO GET ME SOME MORE BECAUSE THAT ONLY ACCENTUATES THAT FACT THAT YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN TO GO TO THE STORE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREAKING DAY AND BUY ME HUMMUSSSSSSSSSS!

I didn’t say this out loud. But the words ricocheted off the walls of my head, compelling me to run from the house before they escaped.  I made it out the door just in time, and proceeded to take a little drive  contemplating all the ways you could kill someone with hummus and make it look like an accident.

Rest assured MoB readers, I did not kill him.  Sometimes marriage is best served by being apart rather than together.  Dave is alive and well and happily surfing.  And I miss him.  He will survive another summer. And so will we.

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