Someone asked Wolf recently, “So, is your wife excited about the move?”
His response? “Sure, you can call it that. She’s going nuclear and losing her shit every couple of hours. Sure, call it excited.”
And then he came home and REPEATED the conversation to me.
But, that’s not what makes him an asshole.
I’ve been asked if I’m stressed or excited about the move. Frankly, I can’t tell, because the anxiety is blocking everything else out.
It’s not the move that freaks me out, it’s the in between. Five hours on a bus, six hours on the plane. With the Terror Toddlers. EIGHT DAYS without Wolf and Tazzie.
I actually asked the customer service agent at West Jet, “If one of my toddlers loses their minds and has a meltdown on the plane, you’re not going to land and kick us off, right?”
Because that could TOTALLY HAPPEN, PEOPLE. I’ve read the news. She reassured me that the flight attendants were into bribing kids, not booting them. *whew*
I’ve been a bit clingy with Wolf lately. Just randomly grabbing him and hugging him. And saying weird shit.
“I can’t believe you’re LEAVING ME.”
“Now I know how abandoned dogs feel.”
“You’re lucky I’m not making you wear me as a backpack until you leave.”
He laughs, and reassures me…most of the time.
Then there was this conversation:
Me: “You’re going to pick us up at the airport, RIGHT?”
Wolf snickered, an evil light in his eyes, before composing his earnest expression. “Of course I will.”
Me: “Don’t you look at me like that! I’ve been married to you FAR TOO LONG to buy that look. Seriously. Be EARLY at the airport. Don’t pull any shit. Don’t hide around the corner or something stupid, just to freak me out.”
Wolf: “Would I do that?”
Me: ‘YES YOU FREAKING WOULD. Because you’re an asshole like that, and would think it was funny. But it wouldn’t be funny, because I would completely lose my shit, and the children would be talking about that in therapy for years to come.”
Wolf: “I’ll be there.”
And that’s still not what makes him an asshole.
Wolf: “How many days are we apart? What, six? Seven?”
Me: “I KNEW YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE US AT THE AIRPORT! EIGHT DAYS, ASSHOLE! EIGHT!”
He started LAUGHING. He KNOWS its eight days, but decided to screw with me.
Me: “Congratulations. I now have a new blog post. And the title? “I MARRIED AN ASSHOLE!”
Wolf: “Go for it.”
So I did. And this is it.
Because I married an asshole that has the same twisted sense of humour I do.
Which makes us BOTH assholes.
I’m just the one that’s having nightmares about the trip.