Lock and Launch

"Morning Honey." Rob ambles into my room and yawns.

My heart lifts at the sight of him then slams to my gut as the adjoining door snicks shut behind him. "Dammit Rob,"I yelp, "you just locked yourself out of your room."

He gives me a sleepy perplexed look. "I did?"

"Yeah." We've got an early flight to work and I'm not happy but I rein in the attitude and shoot a look at the clock. "Call the front desk and get someone to open the door."

"Okay," he says as he sets down the phone, "they'll be right up." Unfazed, he wraps a towel around his naked glory and saunters into the hallway. The airport van leaves in twenty minutes. Annoyed, I roll my eyes and yank a brush through my hair. Two seconds later Rob is back. "Well I have a key card but I forgot I set the security bar."

"Jesus Rob," I moan, "what if you pay attention?"

"Don't worry," he grins, "They're sending a guy to pop the lock."

Yeah and how long will that take? I snatch up my uniform pants, yank them over my hips and thrust a thumb at my bathroom. "Take a shower Rob or you'll miss pick-up."

"Good idea. You'll answer the door when they knock?"

My jaw hurts. I like mornings but on my own terms so I wake early, drink coffee, stretch out the kinks and enjoy the silence. I'm not happy.

Rob clicks on CNN and my shoulders hitch a little higher. "Now Rob."

He disappears into the bathroom so I click off the TV and pour water into the coffee maker but I can't get the foil wrapper off the filter. I give up and slam the rest of my belongings into the roller-board. I'm at the door when the shower shuts off. "I'll let the crew know you might miss the van Rob, just do your best."

I blow past a man bearing bolt cutters and breeze into the hotel lobby moments before pick-up. I'm telling the story to our fellow flight attendant when a hand settles on my shoulder. "Now this is a funny conversation to overhear."

"Yep," I look at our new Captain, introduce myself and roll my eyes, "my husband."

"It was funnier when I didn't know that."

I grin.

Our luggage is already loaded when Rob trots up to the crowded van so he hauls his roller-board in and plants it on his lap. "Yeah," he says, "lets go to work." He hands me a bit of cut metal and laughs. "I'm a gold member so they didn't charge me for the lock."

As the van stops at another hotel I eye the available space. "Better put your bag in the back Rob so the next guy can find a seat."

He hauls his bag to the front door but it doesn't open.

"Locked out again." Shouts the Captain. The van fills with laughter as Rob returns to his seat and wedges the roller-board between his knees.

Houston, I sigh, we have a launch.

Eggs and Exes

Humidity sinks down the back of my neck and presses my shirt to damp skin but some things are more important than air conditioning, like making nice with my mother-in-law.

Which is a trial.

So I take a shallow breath of fetid air, toss two pair of navy blue polyester pull-on pants into the red texas clay at the side of the clapboard house, and grind my heel into the fabric.

"Ya got the laundry?" Asks Bubba shuffling onto the porch and scratching his belly. "Mom's making dinner."

Oh Joy. I remember the last time Anne cooked. Canned chili, which is fine, but I watched her add eggs and lard to the pot and my tolerance for new and interesting food shot to an all-time low. I wonder if I should pack an orange.

"Hey," Bubba watches me lift the pants and shake the excess dirt into the drive. "You don't like Mom's gift?"

I study the sturdy elastic waist and shake my head. "Not exactly."

He snickers and I laugh. For six months we've gone to Anne's house for Sunday dinner and for six months I've tried to wear out the knees of these pants but polyester is impervious to damage. Annoyed, I toss them into the laundry and load the basket into the back seat of the pickup. "I'll drive."

"I don't think so," Bubba grips the keys and climbs into the cab, "you'll ruin the tires running over curbs."

I set my chin and ignore him, which is easy, because blue bonnets, poppies and buffalo grass undulate along the side of the road. Sun blazing across my cheeks I prop bare feet on the dash and drift asleep.

Before Bubba can set the break, Anne lowers the tail gate and hauls out the laundry. "Like the pants?"

"They're perfect for work." I say, but instead of calling me on a lie she grins and jerks her chin toward the house. "We've been paintin. Think you can climb up there and finish that bit below the eaves?"

I peer at the house. An eight by four is suspended across a pair of ten penny nails. "Not exactly." I say.

"Well, maybe after dinner. We're having chili." She plants her hands on ample hips and studies me out of the corner of her eye. "Hungry?"

Well shit. I study my options and decide death is preferable to dinner. "Tell you what," I say, "You save me an extra yeast roll and some of the beef steak tomatoes from the garden and I'll finish painting."

"Well that's nice." She says but when she turns to Bubba, and gives him a broad wink, I know I've been played.

Damned Texans.

Rant on a Hot Tin Roof

A rerun for the Twisted Scottish Bastard who worries that I'm a tad unfair to my sweetie. I ask you TSB how would your wife exact revenge?

 

"Dammit Rob," belly down, I scootch to the edge of the roof, "get me down."

Silence.

Heat pricks my spine and a lock of hair sticks to my cheek. I can't believe he took the ladder. Who does that? "ROB. DAMMIT."

He's in the house drinking a beer. I can tell. He thinks he's funny only the next time the sewer pipe needs to be snaked he can damned well do it himself. I quit. At least I'd quit if I could get off the roof.

"Listen you son oF A ... "

The dogs race into the backyard and spin in circles til I groan. They look up, settle on their haunches and cock their heads. "Get Daddy." I tell them. They look at each other and glance back at me. I swear they're amused. "Go," I jerk an arm toward the sliding door beneath me, "Get. Daddy."

They bound into the house as I strip off dirt streaked gloves and judge the distance to the pool.

"Too chicken to jump?"

I jerk upright. Rob stands on the patio and tilts a iced bottle of beer to his lips. He's smug. Too smug for a man with a diminishing life span. "Get. Me. Down."

"No, I think you need to get rid of that attitude before I bring back the ladder." Whistling, he disappears into the house.

It's summer. It's Florida. I'm not losing the attitude til the first cold snap in November. When anger overrides fear I sit down, roll over and shimmy back to the edge. My legs dangle in midair but I shove down the panic and kick back til I collide with the fence top.

Ten seconds later I barrel into the house but it's quiet. Too quiet. And then I peer through the plate glass window. Rob's across the street chatting with George. The dogs are with him. He spots me and hoists his beer bottle in salute.

Why that son oF A ...

Huh, I thought it was Thursday. If you're a Ninja, keep on scrolling and enjoy the day.