My Filene's trip brings the wrath of M
Dear lord, where do I begin?
M called me around 5 p.m. yesterday to remind me his workmates were taking a departing coworker out for drinks, and that they were probably going to eat, too, so I was on my own for dinner. That's fine. I worked late and cleaned up my work email, then decided to head over to the new Bear Rock Cafe for a one-pound baked potato with butter and chives. (rant on: Note to counter worker: Fat-free sour cream is hardcore nasty. Full-fat sour cream will blow my diet. Invest in some lowfat, wilyaplease? And don't tell me the fat-free is lowfat. I know the difference. Thanks. rant off) Then I decided to head over to the soon-to-be-defunct Filene's to see what was happening with the sales. As is usual when I shop, I went into Christineland, population 1. I tried on some pants and checked out the purses, but no luck, so I headed home around 9 p.m. In the back of my mind, I thought to myself: M has probably left me a message on my cell, saying where are you? I'm usually little-miss-nice-wife usually and come right home from work. But why go straight home to an empty house?
Sure enough, there were TWO messages on my cell. Just as I picked up the phone to check them, it rang again, and it was M. He blasted my ass out for not leaving a note, saying he was worried sick, and that I ALWAYS call, and he didn't know if I was dead, and he'd tried my cell, he'd called my parents, he'd called his parents. On and on he went. I apologized and called my own parents, from whom I inherited my anxiety, to let them know I was, in fact, still breathing and was just wrapped up in consumer paradise. My mom laughed and said she understood. She said M had called and was completely upset, saying I hadn't brought in the mail, and he didn't know where I was. (When I got home, btw, the mail was still in the box. So that means he opened the box to see if it was there, then closed it, NOT BRINGING THE MAIL IN. Duuuuhh.) So then I went home to face the music.
When I got home, M was sulking on the computer. I apologized again and noticed his back was all red. Yes, he had broken out in hives because he was so nervous. Good lord! He told me he wasn't trying to be a controlling husband, but that I always left a note or a voice mail, and the fact that I didn't freaked him out. Here's the thing: He came home at 9. I left the Filene's parking lot at 9. Had I spent 10 less minutes in the store (if I hadn't asked the salesgirl to look at that Coach bag I certainly can't afford), I would have been home before him, and the whole mess would have been avoided. I didn't leave a note or call because I thought I would be home before him. Sigh. I mean, I'm glad he cares, but I don't want him to get that upset. And to think how pissed he would have been had I bought something! ;)
M called me around 5 p.m. yesterday to remind me his workmates were taking a departing coworker out for drinks, and that they were probably going to eat, too, so I was on my own for dinner. That's fine. I worked late and cleaned up my work email, then decided to head over to the new Bear Rock Cafe for a one-pound baked potato with butter and chives. (rant on: Note to counter worker: Fat-free sour cream is hardcore nasty. Full-fat sour cream will blow my diet. Invest in some lowfat, wilyaplease? And don't tell me the fat-free is lowfat. I know the difference. Thanks. rant off) Then I decided to head over to the soon-to-be-defunct Filene's to see what was happening with the sales. As is usual when I shop, I went into Christineland, population 1. I tried on some pants and checked out the purses, but no luck, so I headed home around 9 p.m. In the back of my mind, I thought to myself: M has probably left me a message on my cell, saying where are you? I'm usually little-miss-nice-wife usually and come right home from work. But why go straight home to an empty house?
Sure enough, there were TWO messages on my cell. Just as I picked up the phone to check them, it rang again, and it was M. He blasted my ass out for not leaving a note, saying he was worried sick, and that I ALWAYS call, and he didn't know if I was dead, and he'd tried my cell, he'd called my parents, he'd called his parents. On and on he went. I apologized and called my own parents, from whom I inherited my anxiety, to let them know I was, in fact, still breathing and was just wrapped up in consumer paradise. My mom laughed and said she understood. She said M had called and was completely upset, saying I hadn't brought in the mail, and he didn't know where I was. (When I got home, btw, the mail was still in the box. So that means he opened the box to see if it was there, then closed it, NOT BRINGING THE MAIL IN. Duuuuhh.) So then I went home to face the music.
When I got home, M was sulking on the computer. I apologized again and noticed his back was all red. Yes, he had broken out in hives because he was so nervous. Good lord! He told me he wasn't trying to be a controlling husband, but that I always left a note or a voice mail, and the fact that I didn't freaked him out. Here's the thing: He came home at 9. I left the Filene's parking lot at 9. Had I spent 10 less minutes in the store (if I hadn't asked the salesgirl to look at that Coach bag I certainly can't afford), I would have been home before him, and the whole mess would have been avoided. I didn't leave a note or call because I thought I would be home before him. Sigh. I mean, I'm glad he cares, but I don't want him to get that upset. And to think how pissed he would have been had I bought something! ;)
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