Love gets a reality check

in In for a Pound by

If ever I thought I could run the family business on my own, I can now say with confidence there is no more thinking involved.

I know I can’t run the family business on my own.

This past Monday, Beach Boy and Number Two Kid (NTK) went on a road trip/business junket across the island.

NTK is 15 years old but looks like he’s 25. He’s 6’2”. Towering above his father, there is no question whose side of the family he takes after.

Mine. Thank God.

His father, a short arse, stands 5’9” and resembles Frodo from Lord of the Rings.

I know what you’re thinking. If you thumbed back to my first one or two columns, you would definitely get the impression Beach Boy was a blonde-haired, suave God (well, sorta) whose enormous blue eyes lured me away to Newfoundland.

I was young.

I’m here to tell you that after 23-and-three-quarter years of wedded bliss and a week on my own at the shop, he’s lookin more and more like Frodo these days.

A little me time… please?

Since he’s been gone, I haven’t had two seconds to do any of the things that are mildly important to me.

Take Tuesday for example.

Garbage day.

I started my morning at 5:45 a.m. I didn’t have a coffee as I was too busy collecting the house garbage, gathering the recycling and cleaning the cat’s litter box. By the time I finished that job, it was time to walk Belle, my foolish black Lab, which has been my job ever since she was a baby dog.

After 30 minutes of leash pulling, stooping and scooping (she’s a big dog), I wander back into my house. Now it’s personal fitness time for momma. I grab my sneakers, hop in the car and head to the gym. I promised when I turned 40 I would allow myself an hour a day of ME time. I didn’t realize upholding that decision would be as difficult as defending the boarder between North and South Korea.

Clean up the barf. Strip the bed.

 After sweating and huffing and puffing for 25 minutes, which was all the time I had, I head home for a shower. While the water is warming up, I feed the cat and dog and get my clothes ready for the day. Of course the cat chose to throw up on my side of the bed after gorging on his breakfast.

Clean up the barf. Strip the bed.

A nice, hot shower…

Now the shower’s been running for 10 minutes without me in it. The steam is rolling out from under the bathroom door. I’m hurrying down the hall, hopping on one foot, pulling off my sock, already feeling guilty over the waste of water.

The hallway is dark.

My dog is black…

After hitting the floor harder than a 75 pound bag of rocks dropped from a 50-foot cliff, I am now crawling on my hands and knees to the bathroom. The dog is traumatized ( I swear I’m gonna paint a freakin white stripe down that animal’s back) and my ankle is puffing up nicely thank you very much.

I don’t think the soap was out of my hair when I turned off the water.

I drag myself into the shower and flop on the bench inside of it to complete the bathing process. I have to open the shop in 10 minutes.

I don’t think the soap was out of my hair when I turned off the water.

Dripping wet and standing on one foot because the other was too sore to hold me, I comb my naturally curly, red locks. No time to blow dry today so I grab a clip, thinking it would make everything right.

Breakfast of champions

Finally dressed, I reach for the fridge door, hoping to grab some breakfast. As I open it, the smell of rotting food bowls me over. I decide against eating for now. An overripe banana on the counter will have to do.

Out the door and off to the shop I go. It opens at 8 a.m.

At 12:30 p.m., I stop to eat my half rotten banana and use the bathroom.

After completing my task and washing my hands, I turned around to face the bathroom mirror.

Staring back at me was Medusa’s grandmother with a Hello Kitty clip in her hair.

It was a downhill slide from then on.

By 10 p.m., half comatose, I fall into bed and settle into a deep sleep. By 10:10, the phone rings.

It’s Frodo.

“Hi! How was your day?” He says he misses me.

“I miss you too,” I mumble.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

I lie. “Oh fine. Everything’s just fine.”

No point in telling the truth. He’ll only feel guilty and I need to keep those points for when I reeeeally need them.

Like… when I have to go away for a week or two or three…