Monday, February 7, 2011

read my lips.

My husband says to me this morning.... you're taking me to the train station right?
me: Yup.
him:  It leaves at 11 am.
me:  OK.
him: Where are you going?
me: to my pilates class.
him: You're taking me to the train, right?
me:  for the love of God, it's 7 am.  

7:05 am
him:  Actually it leaves later than 11.
me:  great, when does it leave?
him:  11:02.
me:  silent, squinty stare....

10:00 am.
him:  you didn't forget you're taking me to the train station, did you?
me:  nope
him:  you'll need to take me by Starbucks first.  And I need to make some sandwiches for the train ride.  Do we have any eggs?
me:  do you know they have food on the train?
him:  I bet it stinks.
me:  more than eggs?

10: 15
him:  We need to leave by 10:30.
me:  You know you have to check in, right?
him:  What?  you're joking.
me:  Nope.  It's part of George Bush's Patriot Act.  
him:  You mean I just can't get on the train?  I have to go thru security?
me:  Yep.  If you don't believe me, go check the homeland security home page.  They're in charge of national transportation.
him: *&$@!.  runs around gathering his bags, laptop and 'mobile' and dashes to the car.

I walk out of the house humming the theme from Star Wars and open the car door Darth Vader style.  I fear my humor is not appreciated, as I'm met with my husbands evil death stare.

him:  Why are you driving so slow?  
me:  The roads are covered in snow.
him:  Why did you go this way?
me:  The Amtrak station is four blocks away, which way should I have gone?
him:  You're driving to slow, I'm gonna miss my train.
me:  silence
him:  Why are you behind the bus?
me:  Because the bus is in front of me.

me:  Should I just take you to the station, since you're so anxious?
him:  No.  I need a coffee. 

Park the car.  Wait while husband stands in long arse line to buy $5 cup of joe.

him:  OK, let's go.  Why aren't you driving?
me:  Cars.  I'm waiting for the traffic to clear.
him:  I'm going to be late.
Hold my breath, count to forty, try to remember that pilates breathing.

him:  Where do I get on the train?
me:  I don't know.  I've never been to this station before.

him: I thought you took the train before.
me:  Yup.  From Ann Arbor.

him:  Well, where do I go?
me:  I don't know.  I've never been to this station before.

him:  I thought you've taken the train to Chicago before.
me:  I have.  From Ann Arbor.

him:  Where's the train?
me:  Probably on the tracks.

him:  I'll just go ask.
me:  Good idea.

Turn into the parking lot, park in front of the clearly marked Amtrak this way signs.  Wait for husband to come out so I can laugh at him.

Knock knock. 

Why is this old lady banging on my window?  Is she a member of some old lady wearing scarves and plastic purses gang?  Look around, out all of the windows.  Coast appears clear.  Roll down window one inch.

me:  Yes?
old lady:  Where is the post office?  I can't find it.

I look straight ahead at post office.  The big brown brick building in front of us.

me:  I point to it.  
old lady:  Where?  Lady squints and leans forward.
me:  Right across the street.  The big brick building that says Post Office on it.
old lady:  I don't see it.
me:  There's a big flag in front of it.
old lady:  What flag?
me:  The American flag.
old lady:  I don't see it.
me:  Just drive across the street, you'll run into it.  

Look around again, wonder if husband paid this person to annoy me.  

Pull away, see husband walking to train.
Roll down window, did you find the train?
Yea, it leaves at 11:02.  It's on the tracks.

*disclaimer.  No husbands or old ladies were harmed in the writing of the blog post.  Regular posts will continue when people stop asking me irritating questions all live long day.


  1. I am glad you wrote the disclaimer.

    I was a little worried there for a minute.

    About the old lady.


  2. OMG you think people go to school to learn to ask these kinds of questions???