So I wanted to title this post "Into the Great Wide Open" - had it half-written in my head today, about how we're flying home for the weekend, and how weird it was to realize that we've never flown together. Driven, or taken the Greyhound together, many times. Flown separately on numerous occasions. But never been on a plane at the same time. And since we travel pretty well together, I'm quite excited about this new chapter in our relationship. Etc. Etc. Etc.
This was the post I had planned. But then it got high-jacked by Life.
We're cleaning up the place a bit before we leave - for the sake of the cat-sitter, for the landlord who's coming in to do some repairs while we're away, and for me, coz I'm coming back a couple days before Mr.Q. He was rooting around on his side of the bed earlier, looking for some record sleeves, while I was taking the sheets off the bed. (The thought of coming home to clean sheets is almost as exciting as anything we've got planned for the weekend!)
So I'm about to put the clean sheets on, and I'm on his side of the bed, and I notice a slightly-crusty, grass-infused hairball. Two, in fact. Right in front of the bag of record sleeves. I call him into the bedroom. I ask him to help me with the sheet. And I notice that he doesn't bat an eye when he steps over the hairballs. The following conversation ensues:
Me: "How can you be working over there on your side of the bed and not notice the hairballs on the floor?!"
Him: (looking down) "Eeew! Yuck!"
Me: "How did you miss those?"
Him: (looking sheepish) "Actually, I thought they were fish."
Me: "You thought they were fish? On the bedroom floor? And you didn't think to investigate?"
Him: (shrugging, wanders off to put on a Billy Joel record.)
I think Douglas Adams may have written the script to my life.