The Best Laid Plans
Sat., November 1, 06:41 AM
The best laid plans are subject to Murphy. Let me restate Murphy’s Law: “If anything can go wrong, it will.” There are lots of funny corollaries, such as “Murphy was an optimist.” In the early developmental stages of Jonah education, when we were talking about manufacturing, we were advised that Murphy is always waiting.
Husband doesn’t have a middle name, but Murphy would be appropriate. I should have known he would do something to me, right after my decision to make better use of my mornings. I got up yesterday morning and did all the usual things – dishes, coffee, waken U.D., read the paper – and went out to start raking leaves before Husband was up. Went back inside to watch him take his pills, and he said, “What time to you want to go to the store?” “Now.” He wants to have his coffee first. I went to do some online banking, looked at my e-mail. Not ready yet; I’m watching my morning slip away. “Where do you want to go?” I asked. As I’ve told him, I will take him anywhere except the cigarette store.
I knew he was up to no good (mother’s sixth sense). So I took him to the little supermarket, where he managed to find his own cart and get inside without dropping his cane more than once. I didn’t help him any more than necessary; I went round and picked up a bottle of milk while he picked out $15 worth of Little Debbies and doughnuts. After paying for them, he took them out to the car, but he wouldn’t get in. He would “take the bus.” In other words, I could take his groceries, but he was going to walk to the cigarette store. (This is the man who nearly collapsed walking along a train platform.)
I watched him for a minute, then I drove around the block. He wasn’t out of the parking lot yet, so I drove home (to put away the milk) and came back. I watched him stop traffic while he crossed the Boulevard, and then I pulled up and offered him a ride. He refused. (Puff, puff.)
I drove to the cigarette store and parked to wait for him. I watched him arrive, walk into Dunkin’ Donuts where he stayed for ten minutes (bet he just used the men’s room), then came out and walked into the cigarette store. I saw him stare at the car, so he knew I was there. I stayed in the car, despite my urge to go in and embarrass him into leaving. When he came out, he went back into Dunkin’ Donuts. After half an hour or so, I walked in and said, “c’mon, it’s time to go.” “Huh?” He was sitting with a cup of coffee and a bag of doughnuts, his shirt open (not a pretty sight), and sugar all over his mouth and his shirt. He looked like a clown. We took his coat and his cane and his doughnuts and his coffee. “Where’s the car?”
I took him home, carried his junk upstairs, and left. After I had been to the bank and the drugstore, it was lunchtime, but I didn’t want to go home, knowing I’d get sidetracked again. So I ate some stale crackers I had in the car and went to Sam’s Club. It is not good to shop when you’re hungry, but fortunately, as much as I wanted something to soothe my psyche, Sam’s is not the best source – until I came to the table with the rugalah. I ate several on the way home.
U.D. was on her way to physical therapy, but Miss Neighbor was surprisingly chatty as I resumed raking. I shouldn’t be so angry; I accomplished several things I had planned, even if I didn’t do them all. But wasting a couple of hours waiting for Husband has resulted in some new rules. No one is going to take him shopping anywhere near the cigarette store. I’ve let U.D. off the hook. If he used as much determination to take care of himself as he displays when he wants smokes, he wouldn’t be sick. I swear I will kill him one day; murder looks better all the time!
