In my defense, I really love good Mexican food my husband.
Seriously, I’m a sucker for decent Mexican. Which we can’t get up north (and I wish they’d quit pretending, it just makes me sad). Plus, this time he’s going somewhere warm and a bit less humid, and he promised me that he will make not one single peep about my bubble tea habit.
The plan was for us to leave very early in the morning, and I came up with the brilliant idea to have everything packed and in the rental car before we went to sleep the night before, so that all we had to do was wake up, shower, toss some last minute toiletries into a bag and go. I wasn’t even going to wear makeup, and that was a serious sacrifice.
Problem: Husband is still obsessed with Stellaris.
Now, I usually pack him for trips and don’t mind doing so. He’ll sit on the bed and watch me; arguing that he doesn’t need an extra pair of socks beyond one per day he’ll be gone, (of course you need extra, sheesh) debating which shirts I should send him with, battling my insistence on sending at least one tie even if he’s sure he won’t need to wear one because you never know. It’s fun.
But I draw the line at packing his shit so that he can sit there and play that fucking game all day. Nyuh.
So I prodded him a few times, and I reminded him that we needed to pack, and eventually I just packed my own things and told him when I was done. There’s a checklist on our list app, it’s not like I left him totally defenseless. He eventually (so goddamned late, you guys) managed to pack himself, and I went through the checklist with him so he could add the things I knew he’d forget.
And then he went back to that game.
The plan was to be on the road no later than 6am, and at midnight he was still saying he “didn’t want to be up too late, so just a little longer.”
You already know what’s coming, don’t you?
Husband finally staggered to bed around 2am, just three hours before our alarm was set to wake us. He knew he’d messed up, but anyone can get distracted with a really cool game and accidentally go all night, right? No big deal.
Problem: the animals know what packing looks like. And they do not care for it.
Big Good Boy dog had come to me (at a decent hour) and asked to snuggle with me in the bed for reassurance. Because of the suitcase and the scary. Of course I let him sleep with me! What kind of monster do you think I am? But now Husband wanted to go to bed, and BGBDog helpfully scootched over toward me to make some room for him.
Husband could not get the dog to leave the bed peacefully. He asked nicely, he begged, he ordered. His only possible alternative, with a good boy looking at him with big brown eyes, was to escalate the situation in a way that would wake me up. And that, for reasons we’ve already discussed here, he was not willing to do.
So he grabbed his pillow and went down to sleep on the couch.
I woke up because the room seemed awfully bright, looked at my phone and shouted, “Holy shit! It’s 6:00 – you wanted to be on the road by now!” and rolled over to wake my husband, only to find that he had been turned into a dog.
Chaos. But we got out the door in under an hour, successfully beating the worst of the rush hour traffic, and congratulated ourselves on a job well done.
Problem: about two hours later, Husband yelled “SHIT!” and announced that he had forgotten the critical sensor that he’d spent an entire day creating – at home and on his own time, no less – specifically for this test.
Turned around, went back home.