Then an idea comes to me. Bryan from the office mentioned something about doing something this weekend. What the hell was it? Hiking? Cycling? Dammit, why didn’t I pay attention when he was going on and on about it the other day during morning break?
I know the reason. He’s always talking about doing something with his time off, and I swear to God it takes every ounce of strength I have not to be filled with jealousy. I don’t know if he’s married, but if he is, his wife isn’t like mine. That’s for sure. I can’t remember a weekend in the past six months that she didn’t have something planned that interrupted any chance I had to relax.
My envy of his life aside, if he’s got something good going on, maybe I can join him and get away from here for a while. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.
With new hope that I won’t be trapped here all day with eight screaming preteen girls and a squealing woman, I fish my phone out of my shorts pocket and search for his number. There’s no Bryan in my contacts, though. Christ, what did I list him under?I scroll up and down through the names until one jumps out at me finally.
Guy From Work. Not exactly the most complimentary description I’ve ever given someone. A little bland, in fact, but certainly not the worst I’ve called people.
A few seconds later, his phone begins to ring, and I hope beyond hope he’ll give me some excuse to get away. Even biking would be a welcome relief from what I’m dealing with here.
“Hey, Connor! Fancy you calling me right now. Did you decide to take me up on my offer to go hiking?” Bryan asks with almost as much enthusiasm as my wife.
“Yeah. I thought some fresh air might be good for me.”
“Great! Meet me at the community center in ten minutes. Be sure to wear the right kind of shoes. It’s not incredibly mountainous around here, but it still can leave you with a twisted ankle if you aren’t careful.”
“Got it. Hiking boots it is.”
“And no shorts. I know you like to wear them, but with all the things out on the trails, you need long pants.”
“Long pants. Check. Anything else?”
Bryan hums into the phone for a few moments before answering, “Nothing I can think of. Just be sure to be ready for a workout. After, we can grab a few drinks since the bar at the clubhouse will be next to empty by the time we get back. Sound good?”
What it sounds like is a chance to escape the insanity of my estrogen-filled home for a few hours. Hiking isn’t exactly the way I prefer to spend my weekend afternoons, but I’ll take it today.
“Sounds great!” I say in my best fake excitement voice.
“Cool! See you in ten at the community center.”
Happy to have something to save me from what my house has become, I toss my phone on the bed and hurry to find a pair of comfortable long pants I can wear on this hike. All mypants are for work, but I think I might have one pair that will do. Stepping into the walk-in closet my wife and I share, I’m surrounded by her clothes. I look to the left to see a tiny section of mine shoved into a corner. This must be another example of that happy wife, happy life stuff.
It takes me a few minutes to find my tan pants stuffed into a cubby in the back of my section. When I take them out and see they’re wrinkled, I’m instantly infuriated. The neighbors’ kids can’t use anything less than towels made of fine Egyptian cotton, but my clothes can be jammed into the closet in practically a ball?
I open my mouth to yell for my wife to come up here, but what’s the point? She’ll only explain how important it is for her to be downstairs doing her best helicopter mom routine while she tearfully stares at me like I’m some madman who doesn’t care about his children.
Forget that.
When I slip my right leg into the pants, I notice they aren’t too wrinkled once I’m in them. Maybe this won’t be bad, after all. I’m still pissed, but I’ll discuss that with Jamie later.
I find my brown hiking boots crammed into the back of the closet like my pants were. Lifting them out of their cubby, I can’t help but glance at the way her dozens of shoes are carefully placed along the shelf dedicated to only them.
Must be nice to take care of something.
Five minutes later, I’m dressed and ready for a hike. Maybe it will clear my head a little and put me into a better mood. Between my wife and those girls downstairs and that weird experience at the grocery store, I need something to help this day improve.
I breeze through the living room on my way toward the front door and call out to my wife in the kitchen, “Going out! Be back later!”
Unfortunately, she can’t just yell back, “Have a good time!” No. She has to rush toward me as I head out, saying, “Wait! Connor, I need to talk to you.”
Ten to one she doesn’t actually need to talk to me. She just wants to say something about some stupid idea she’s concocted about doing something to make the girls more popular.
I turn to face her, hoping she sees the expression of disgust on my face. I don’t ask for much. I just don’t want to be involved in any of the nonsense she has going with these kids. Why can’t she understand that?
When I don’t ask her what she needs, she narrows her eyes and tugs her eyebrows in toward her nose to give me that face that says she’s upset I’m not interested in what she has to say. Normally, I’d give her what she wants, but one glance down at my still somewhat wrinkled tan pants makes me want to do nothing of the sort.
“Where are you going? I’m here with a houseful of girls. I need you here.”
