Yesterday afternoon, my husband and I had a 3 o’clock appointment together.

No, there’s no change to the will.  No erectile dysfunction counseling.  We’re not hiring a hit man for anything.  (Yet.)  We aren’t secretly learning to ballroom dance.  Nothing interesting at all.

Geez, you people are nosy.  If I wanted to share that much detail about my life, I’d just get a blog.

Oh, wait.

So anyway, we had this 3 o’clock appointment.  I was going straight from my office and he was meeting me there.  I called his mobile phone at 2 o’clock and the conversation went something like this:

Me:  So, this 3 o’clock thing.  Where is it again?

Him:  On South Woods Mill Road.

Me:  So now I know about as much as I did before.  So where is it again?

Him:  It’s easy.  Take highway 40 and exit on Woods Mill and go south.

Me:  Easy peasy.  OK, see you there.

Him:  Wait.  So exit on Woods Mill and go south.  And then get off 141 at Clayton.

Me:  Wait.  What?  When did I get on 141?  I was on 40 and I got off on Woods Mill.  Since the place we’re going is on Woods Mill, I thought I was done with directions.

Him:  No, it’s complicated.  141 IS Woods Mill.  So exit 141 on Clayton and go left.

Me:  Wait.  What?  Is 141 like a highway – is it an exit on the right or do I just make a left onto Clayton.

Him:  You’re not going to get onto Clayton.

Me:  Well then why the hell am I exiting 141 onto Clayton?

Him:  The 141 exit is really Woods Mill.

Me:  I thought that 141 and Woods Mill were the same.

Him:  Yes, but sometimes it has Woods Mill signs and sometimes it has 141 signs.

Me:  OK, so I take 40 and exit on Woods Mill and then go south on 141 and then exit on Clayton which is really Woods Mill.  And even though I’m exiting on Clayton, I’m not ever going to turn onto Clayton.

Him:  No, I think you can turn into the place before you hit Clayton.  Remember that one McDonald’s over there by The Melting Pot?

Me:  Yeah, isn’t that the one we stopped at when Katie puked all over the old mini-van?  That one?

Him:  What?  No!  What are you talking about?

Me:  That time we were coming home from Lake of the Ozarks.  She puked all over the car after having McDonald’s for breakfast.  We pulled into a McDonald’s coming back into St. Louis to clean it up.  It was kind of poetic to have the problem begin and end at a McDonalds.  Remember?

Him:  No.  Listen to me.  Across from that McDonald’s, off Woods Mill, is the shopping center where this place is.  I think you can make a left into it.  If you go past Clayton Rd. you’ve gone to far.

Me:  Are you sure?

Him:  About what?

Me:  That we didn’t stop at that one after the puking?

Him:  WHO CARES!

Me:  This seemed like it should have been so simple.  How do you make everything so complicated?

Him:  Me??   ME??!?!

Me:  You’re not insinuating that I am part of the problem here, are you?  I didn’t make the streets change names nor did I call the 141 exit onto Woods Mill the “Clayton Exit”.  I think your ire is misplaced.

Him:  There is no ire.

Me:  Are you sure? I sense ire.

Him:  No ire.  Are you clear on the directions?

Me:  Are you trying to get rid of me?  If there is no ire, there is at least frustration.  Right?

Him:  No.  I’m fine.  So I’ll see you at 3 o’clock?

Me:  Absolutely.  And then after the appointment, we’ll figure out dinner.  What’s for dinner?

Him:  No, what’s for breakfast.

Me:  I didn’t ask what’s what’s for breakfast.  I was just thinking about where we should have dinner.

Him:  Where is lunch.

Me:  What?  I don’t know.

We somehow always end up on third base.  (Must be true love.)

2 Comments on Whereby he is Abbott and I am Costello.

  1. Elizabeth says:

    Sounds a lot like my conversations sometimes with my Hubby. I’m pretty sure he says it is me; not him.

  2. RunLonger says:

    OMG. My husband and I have had this exact conversation (with a couple different nouns and verbs) like nine times in the last year. Aint’ marriage grand;)