The FBI on speed dial

There's not a lot of time for this working girl (herein known as WG) to blog these days. I have not overslept and woke up twice to exercise last week! Yah, Redhead Editor! I slipped back into old habits Saturday and slept passed noon. Bad Redhead Editor.

Let me tell you a little something about my husband. Parts of him are great. After 25 years of marriage, he now does the laundry without provocation, folds it, and all while watching whatever sports is on. (Please don't call. The man cannot do THREE things at the same time.) He separates the clothes, uses the right water (cold, warm, hot) and the right amount of detergent and hasn't ruined anything since the early 80s. (We're not even counting the sweater of Mabel's that could fit her doll when he was done with it. She should have never put it in the laundry to begin with.) He does ALL the yard work without ever being asked. I hate the outdoors and the heat and am allergic to all things green. From spring to fall, he is out there mowing, trimming, sweeping, gathering. Now he doesn't grow things or cultivate beauty. He just maintains, but I have no complaints. He doesn't mind being married to a wife who doesn't cook and rarely has dinner ready. And when dinner is ready, we rarely... ok, we never eat at the table (which we refer to as the horizontal filing cabinet). Some men would absolutely go ballistic at that missing component in a marriage, but not my husband. He never notices when I lose weight or dress up, but I learned to live with that because he never notices (or says anything) when I gain weight and look frumpy.

But on the other hand, he can be so fucking strange. The older he gets the more he is like his father, but don't tell him that because he would be terribly offended. He is getting more curmudgeon like than ever. If you got to read my annual Christmas letter, you know that he called the cops when he discovered our ladder was stolen. It wasn't stolen! We had loaned it to friends, but he didn't remember. I can hardly remember what I wore to work today, so there are no hard feelings there. The funny part (or at least I thought it was funny) was that instead of calling me to find out where it was, he called the police to report it. He was incredulous that someone would steal into our backyard (gate latch) and steal away with a 25-foot ladder sight unseen. Glad the local police had a sense of humor.

So about 2 weeks ago, we were driving to Columbia to visit Mabel, and I was scrolling through the husband's phone in order to call a friend (who, coincidentally, was the same friend who borrowed the ladder). After asking if this friend was in his cell phone directory under the first initial or the last. He said last name. So I hit the "f's" and started scrolling. 2nd number up is The FBI. Of course, I start laughing my ass off. "Why do you need the FBI?" He does not answer. Perhaps the laughter intimidates him. "I can understand needing the local police (in case someone steals our ladder again) on speed dial. I can even understand why you might need the highway patrol? But please explain why you would possibly need the FBI??? Again, no answer. I try to make up scenarios. He still does not answer, does not justify, comes up with no explanation as to why he would have the FBI on speed dial. A grown man should not be that intimidated by his wife of 25 years over a simple question. WHY??

Yesterday he said, "You'll be happy to know I took the FBI speed dial. But I did have to call the Highway Patrol the other day." Oh, nice, why? He replied, "Someone was driving erratically on the highway. He was either drunk... re retarded." Again, I started laughing. Maybe he should stay home and do the laundry and not get on the highway any more.