People I Want to Punch in the Throat (16 page)

In the immortal words of Monty Python: “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.” Maybe Monty Python didn’t expect it, but I think most women across the country do. Surely I am not the only wife who has to go through the Spanish Inquisition with the Hubs whenever I want to leave the house by myself. Please tell me that I’m not alone.

I have had a standing date with my moms’ group every Tuesday night ever since I joined the Blue Playgroup. There are many hints for the Hubs that it’s Tuesday and my night out with the ladies: (1) it’s on the calendar, (2) I shower, (3) I put on clean clothes, and (4) every Tuesday around 4:00
P.M.
I announce, “Don’t forget, today is Tuesday. I’ll be gone tonight. You’re in charge of dinner.”

Every Tuesday around 4:05
P.M.
I get the following response: “Really? You’re going out? Again? Didn’t you just go last week?”

“Yes, I did go out last week. I got out every Tuesday,” I sigh.

“Must be
niiiiice
. Well, what are you guys going to do? Anything fun?”

I don’t know what the deal is. I don’t know why it makes a
difference to him if I’m going to have fun or not, but it does. And it seems like the more fun I’m going to have, the more irritated he gets. So I tend to reply: “No, not really. We’re all getting bikini waxes and root canals. It should be horrible.”

“Oh. Yeah, that
does
sound horrible. Why do you even go to this stuff? We could have so much more fun at home. We could watch TV together. I’ve got a bunch of
Mythbusters
saved up.”

“That sounds great, but I really can’t stay home. I’m the one who organized this particular Moms’ Night Out, so I’m expected to be there early so I can take the first shot of novocaine before the root canals start.”

“Hmm … okay. What time will you be back?”

“Whenever the professionals say it’s safe to drive, but you’d better plan on late.”

Even if I told him the truth, I doubt my Tuesday nights would sound fun to him. Especially the ones where we’re having a roundtable discussion about the secrets of potty training or when we bring in an expert extreme couponer to tell us how to get an extra 30 cents off milk from Target (actually, the cheap bastard would love that couponing one). I could barely tell him the night we went to the gun range, because I knew he’d want to tag along. (What? Doesn’t your local moms’ group go shoot a few rounds to blow off steam?) I don’t care what the topic is—I would go and listen to a speaker talk about beekeeping if it got me out of the house and allowed me to spend some time with people who don’t want anything from me.

Unfortunately, this line of questioning is not just reserved for Tuesday nights. It seems like I have to play Twenty Questions every time I’d like to leave the house without at least one child in tow. If I try to sneak out the door, I get a barrage of questions:

“Where are you going?”

“What time will you be back?”

“What do we
need
at the store?”

“How much will you spend?”

“What am I supposed to do with the kids while you’re gone?”

These questions are just for the grocery store. Can you imagine the hoops I have to jump through to go get my hair cut?

I am home all day long with the Hubs, as we both work from our home office. He is my only co-worker, and he’s in my space constantly. I love my husband dearly, but there are days I wouldn’t be opposed to burying his bludgeoned body in the backyard. Before you send the police to my house, just know that I dream about this sort of thing, but I would never actually go through with it. I’m weak and he’s kind of heavy, so I could never drag his ass out to the backyard or dig a grave. I’m not really built for manual labor.

If it’s not the Hubs, then the kids come home from school and I can’t even pee alone. Every time I turn a corner I’m met with a whine for more food or help tying a shoe.

I’m sorry that I would like to leave the house for a while—
alone
. I don’t think there is anything wrong with the fact that I find the idea of perusing the cereal aisle in peace and quiet appealing. I can’t be the only one who at times would like to go to the fucking grocery store by myself. I would like to go in the daylight hours when normal people shop, not after 10:00
P.M.
, like the Hubs would prefer. I would like to go and walk the aisles in silence and get everything on my list without anyone pestering me for Krave cereal (WTF is that stuff, anyway—crack for kids?), toys, and electronics (I’m looking at you, Hubs!).

I listen to his questions and I typically respond with:

“Target.”

“Not sure.”

“We need milk and cereal.”

“Probably fifty dollars, because you’re not allowed to leave unless you spend at least fifty bucks.”

“Just keep them alive.”

And then I get the dreaded response: “I think we should all go.”

Noooooooooooooo!
The Hubs always thinks it’s a great idea for
all
of us to go to the store together, like some kind of twisted family outing. This is fun for no one except maybe the Hubs. He loves to be together. Only he doesn’t. Because inevitably he has some special item he’s looking for in the lawn and garden area or the automotive section (even though he doesn’t take care of our lawn
or
our vehicles), so he ditches me with a couple of kids melting down in the cereal aisle because I won’t buy Krave, while he goes searching for his random, made-up item that we absolutely must acquire right now. I think the real reason he comes along is so he can better monitor what I’m spending. If he’s there, he can pull items out of my cart.

I’m not joking. He is
always
watching my spending. Usually he tracks the credit cards from the home computer. He’s the Big Brother of my bank card. One year at Christmastime I went out shopping for presents with my mother. After every transaction, he would call me. “What did you just buy at Toys R Us for $246?”

“Presents.”

“I see. We needed that much?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, are you done for the day?”

“No.”

“Okay, just make sure we really
need
all of that stuff before you buy it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Later that day I went to Best Buy to get him a video game for the Xbox. Before I even got to the car, my phone rang. “You bought me a game at Best Buy?” he asked.

“Well, I bought
something
at Best Buy. What makes you think it’s for you?” I asked.

“I know what it is and you totally overpaid. Go back and return it. I can get it cheaper online.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. Go and return it. Best Buy’s prices are outrageous. You know that.”

That was the last year I bought him a Christmas present.

Between the Inquisition and the online snooping, I don’t even know why I bother trying to go out alone. It always ends the same way, with me saying: “Never mind. You ruined it.
You
go to the fucking store and take the kids. I’ll stay home and enjoy the peace and quiet of you guys being gone!” And then I turn around and
he’s
gone to the store by himself and left me alone with the kids! Well played, Hubs. Well played.

Am I the only one who has kids who wait to start the most bizarre conversations until we’re all trapped in the car?

We eat dinner together every night, and when I ask, “How was your day?” I get deafening silence. Bedtime is not any better. Instead of telling me about their hopes and dreams as I tuck them in, Gomer remembers an important assignment that’s due the next day or Adolpha develops phantom leg pains and they both realize how parched they are. You would think these would be the perfect times to stretch their curious little minds.

Nope, not my kids. It’s always when we’re in the car. On a trip to the grocery store I went into great anatomical detail when sweet five-year-old Gomer asked where babies come from and wouldn’t take my standard “Babies come from God” answer. On a quick jaunt to the library, I tried not to laugh and drive off the road when a very concerned and serious four-year-old Adolpha asked me, “Someday will I have a mustache on my ’china, too?” She’d caught a glimpse of me in the shower that morning and was quite disturbed at the state of my “ ’china,” and wanted to know if there was a way to make hers look better.

Her statement didn’t surprise me at all. I can always count on Adolpha to keep it real for me and to never sugarcoat anything. She gets that ability from her father. She once drew a picture of me with enormous crow’s feet around my eyes. When I asked about them, she replied simply, “I just draw what I see, Mommy.” Remind me to never ask her to draw me from behind.

When she was about five years old, we were on a run to the craft store when she decided to give me the cold, hard truth about the Hubs.

“Mommy, where’s Daddy?” she asked.

It was a Saturday afternoon in the spring, and like most Saturdays in the spring, the Hubs was out showing houses to clients. “He’s at work,” I replied.

Adolpha thought for a moment and then asked, “How do you
know
he’s at work?”

I was actually a little confused by her question. “Well, because he told me he was going to work when he left the house this morning,” I replied.

“No,
how
do you know?”

“Adolpha, I don’t understand your question. What do you mean?”

Adolpha was clearly exasperated with my level of density. “I mean
how do you know
he’s at work?”

“I told you. He
told
me when he walked out the door,” I replied, mimicking her tone. If she can talk to me like she thinks I’m an idiot, I can give it right back.

“No, Mommy. Maybe he
tells
us he’s at work and really he’s meeting a girlfriend.”

I was stunned by her statement.
Holy crap, kid. Where is that coming from? You’re five!

“Adolpha, where would you get such an idea?” I asked.

“Ms. Shauna’s husband had a girlfriend,” Adolpha said matter-of-factly. Miss Shauna was our neighbor. “And she had to get divorced, because of the girlfriend.”

I couldn’t believe she knew that. I racked my brain. How in the world did Adolpha know about Shauna’s husband’s girlfriend? The whole neighborhood knew—most of them before Shauna, even—but I didn’t think the kids knew, too.

“Miss Shauna told you her husband had a girlfriend?” I asked.
Jeez, what the hell, Shauna?

“No. I heard Aston’s mommy telling Ava’s mommy.”

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop on adults’ conversations, Adolpha!” I said, letting Shauna off the hook.

“I don’t know what ‘eavesdrop’ means!”

“It means you shouldn’t snoop on people’s conversations.”

“I didn’t. I was at Aston’s birthday party and she was telling Ava’s mommy while they passed out cake. Everyone at the party heard them. Then Rex told us his parents are divorced because his daddy had a girlfriend—only it’s a different girlfriend than he has now. Rex said his daddy would go on dates with his girlfriend at night when he said he was at work. See? That’s why I want to know where Daddy is. Do people go on dates in the daytime?”

I was shocked. Who knew a bunch of little kids could follow the plotline to a suburban soap opera full of deceit and intrigue?
I
didn’t even know Rex’s dad had a new girlfriend. Man, that guy gets around!

“Maybe you and Daddy will get divorced,” Adolpha continued. “Especially if he has a girlfriend.”

I needed to get us back on track, quick. “No, Adolpha. I trust Daddy. Daddy doesn’t have a girlfriend. He has me.” But now, of course, my little brain started clicking and I started wondering …

I began to feel an uneasiness in my stomach. Had the Hubs ever said
whom
was he taking out to look at houses today? I couldn’t remember. Then I recalled that he hadn’t; he’d only said he’d be home late and that he was taking his client to dinner so they could talk about writing up a contract. Come to think of it, there have been a few dinners that were supposed to result in contracts. The buyers always got cold feet or decided to look at more houses. My mind raced to what I considered to be logical conclusions: Rex’s dad was always working late but was really with his girlfriend. The Hubs goes to dinner and doesn’t write a contract. Shit,
was
the Hubs cheating on me?

It dawned on me that maybe Adolpha knew something I didn’t. Had she picked up on something the Hubs let slip that I had missed? A bit of red lipstick on his collar instead of my signature ChapStick? A hint of perfume instead of my Ben-Gay? A long blond hair instead of one of my short gray ones? I didn’t want to drag her into my drama, but I had to know.

“Hey, Adolpha …”

“Yes?”

“What made you think Daddy has a girlfriend? Have you ever noticed anything?”

Adolpha replied, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Has Daddy ever mentioned a girlfriend before?”

“No!” Adolpha looked at me like I was crazy to suggest such a thing.
Hey, kid, we’re having this conversation because you started it!