One thing that you should know, internet, about my relationship with Thing Two is that we do pretty much everything together. We talk all day via BBM and we are together every second after we get home from work. And yeah, sometimes I think, “Jesus, we are one of THOSE couples.” (And I can usually argue myself out of that because then I remember that “Those Couples” are typically just really jealous and weird and search through each other’s phones to find evidence of some infidelity even if there isn’t any and THAT is the reason they are always together, not because they genuinely enjoy each other as TT and I do. So there. HOLY RUN-ON SENTENCE, BATMAN.) I know what time he gets done with work every day and he knows where I am when I meet friends for dinner and drinks. And yeah, he says he misses me when I am gone for two hours. And yeah, I generally actually DO miss him when I am gone for two hours. And I don’t mind saying so either. And we are mushy and dumb but we don’t care. Because that’s what people do when they love each other. They show it.
All of that being said, I would like to share a little story with you, internet. This happened the other day and I am not sure that, if it had happened two years ago if I would have cared at all (and if I had cared, I would have been WAY too proud and badass to share it with you…and you know, the WHOLE UNIVERSE.)
Thing Two has a very physical job and sometimes, he misplaces his phone. This being said, I can tell you that if I haven’t heard from him and it is around noon, it is fair to say that this is exactly what happened. A couple of days ago, I didn’t hear from him all morning. And then all afternoon. And then I sent him a message saying, “You better not be dead. Or have lost your phone. But, more importantly, you better not be dead.” (Which is probably where the crazy began.) I knew that he would, most likely, be sitting on the couch when I got home from work, playing his Xbox, being a boy (like he does when I am not home, because there is no one there to whine about wanting to watch “What Not to Wear”). But when I got home, his car wasn’t in the driveway and he wasn’t playing Xbox. Now, I’m not gonna front, internet, I thought that was all a little strange but I went on about my evening, just the same. I washed some dishes, I started a load of laundry and I sat down and watched “What Not to Wear”, relishing in the alone time I had been granted. I did this for exactly an hour. And then I realized that Thing Two was over three hours late getting home from work and that he still hadn’t read my messages from the morning. Naturally, I immediately pictured my beloved boyfriend face down in a ditch somewhere. Possibly being gnawed on by wild dogs. Or monkeys. Something.
Although a wave of panic washed over me, I remained calm. I pushed the panic aside and scolded myself for being so pessimistic and ridiculous. I did more laundry. I sent Rackamonie a text, casually asking if he had spoken to TT that day. Nope. Then I sent a text to TT’s sister, who I knew was at work. “Just checking”, I said. Nothing.
By 7pm, I was determined to ignore the whole situation but, I had had two glasses of wine and smoked half a pack of cigarettes and my patience was wearing dangerously thin. TT’s sister had become convinced that I should be calling hospitals and police stations because, naturally, he must be dead because OH.MY.GOD. this is so unlike him. And I had to agree. Did I call hospitals? Not immediately. But after three conversations with Thingette (The Sister), who was starting to formulate theories involving abductions and car accidents, I was starting to get a little rattled. I called Tony, who checked with the emergency room at the hospital where he works. Nothing. I called two other hospitals. Nada. I called friends of TT’s. No answers.
By 8pm, Thingette had contacted their other sister, their mom, an aunt and a cousin trying to determine the location of Thing Two. No one had heard anything from him all day and now, internet? You guessed it, Thingette had created complete pande-fucking-monium. (I don’t care if this is not a word. It is now. Shut up.) She even recruited a cousin to actually drive his route home from work, just to see if his car had broken down. (This was not something I was supportive of at that point, as I had a sneaking suspicion that he was hanging out with his idiot friend from work.) Just for good measure, I tried the idiot friend ONE MORE TIME on his girlfriend’s cell and when he answered, he knew exactly why I was calling, “Yeah, he left here about thirty minutes ago, he should be home soon. He thinks he left his phone at home.” I hung up and immediately after the click, Thingette called to tell me she was getting into the car to begin Operation Dr. Suess and before I could stop her, I heard a car in the driveway and then the rattle of keys approaching my front door.
Now, internet, when I am very angry, I am also very calm. I am a quiet storm. And I will destroy you.
When TT walked casually into the house as if nothing had happened, my first words to him were, “Do not speak to me.” Followed by, “Call your mother.” And then the bedroom door closed slowly and purposefully.
My beloved didn’t originally seem to understand the gravity of what had just happened. He didn’t seem to grasp why I was so angry. So, I had to break it down for him like this:
6 hours late getting home from work + no phone call to your girlfriend = you, dead. (Either by car accident or wild rabid monkeys or by girlfriend’s hand when you return home uninjured.)
This, he understands.
The moral of the story: Do not go out after work (even if you are doing so simply to help do something nice for someone else) if you cannot call and tell your girlfriend that you will be significantly late. By the time you return home, she will be wearing a black veil and preparing for the funeral procession.