zebrafinch
Still Fresh
Although I had heard him anticipating his pandora, and seen him watching the status of the assembling day after day after day, my husband was never the dreadful husband he apparantly could have been while waiting for his Pandora.
Listening to his stories about what amazing wonders that tiny machine could produce, even heated me up a bit.
It was an incredible joy and relief when the little box of magic finally arrived.
Thank god it was finally over, I thought.
but boy was I wrong.
Already within the first 24 hours I started to belief that from that moment on I would always be the runner up in the list of my-husbands-most-precious-possesions.
Even to a question as simple as 'can I get you a beer?' a respond would not come for at least 5 minuten until there was the 'hmm? didya-say summin?'. Jealousy was not allowed, since this was just a machine he had waited so long for and yaddayaddayadda. I don't think i need to tell you all how time- and attention absorbing a freshly deliverd Pandora can be.
I thought of many ways to get rid of my new competitor, but putting the plans into action would eventually mean spending more money and time waiting on the same machine, thus for it to start all over again. (It would also ruin the idea of myself walking around being all geeky and cool with a pandora.)
My husband beat me to it anyway.
Somewhere within the second week of him having his new found love, he went out somewhere. I had to stay at home, but of course, little miss Pandora would easily slid into the pocket of his jacket, so she could go with him.
when he returned, hours later, he was as drunk a man can be.
He fell asleep in the backyard snorring like a walrus.
6 hours later I recommended he'd move his ass to the bedroom.
He asked where his jacket was.
I told him I has brought it inside.
He asked if his Pandora was in it.
..
-O joy- I thought for a slight (just a slight slight) second, knowing that the weight of the jacket was definitely not sufficient enough to have carried the pandora.
the uh-oh look in my face made him sober up in the slighest second of realisation.
'could youve gotten pickpocketed?'
'no.'
'did you take it out of your jacket, used it or showed it to anyone?'
'no!'
'did you take your jacket off at some point?'
'hell no.'
'did you sit down on the ground anywhere on your walk home?'
'..'
'.. go ahead.. go look for it.'
It was a long shot.
But after 6 hours of being gone, he found it back.
There she lied, forgotten and forsaken in the dirt between some middle-aged-woman's pettunias.
And now she is back, oh yes she is.
But there is no doubt in my mind that whoever takes first place, my husband surely treats me better than that damned box.
And if he doesn't; What's his, is mine, right?
Listening to his stories about what amazing wonders that tiny machine could produce, even heated me up a bit.
It was an incredible joy and relief when the little box of magic finally arrived.
Thank god it was finally over, I thought.
but boy was I wrong.
Already within the first 24 hours I started to belief that from that moment on I would always be the runner up in the list of my-husbands-most-precious-possesions.
Even to a question as simple as 'can I get you a beer?' a respond would not come for at least 5 minuten until there was the 'hmm? didya-say summin?'. Jealousy was not allowed, since this was just a machine he had waited so long for and yaddayaddayadda. I don't think i need to tell you all how time- and attention absorbing a freshly deliverd Pandora can be.
I thought of many ways to get rid of my new competitor, but putting the plans into action would eventually mean spending more money and time waiting on the same machine, thus for it to start all over again. (It would also ruin the idea of myself walking around being all geeky and cool with a pandora.)
My husband beat me to it anyway.
Somewhere within the second week of him having his new found love, he went out somewhere. I had to stay at home, but of course, little miss Pandora would easily slid into the pocket of his jacket, so she could go with him.
when he returned, hours later, he was as drunk a man can be.
He fell asleep in the backyard snorring like a walrus.
6 hours later I recommended he'd move his ass to the bedroom.
He asked where his jacket was.
I told him I has brought it inside.
He asked if his Pandora was in it.
..
-O joy- I thought for a slight (just a slight slight) second, knowing that the weight of the jacket was definitely not sufficient enough to have carried the pandora.
the uh-oh look in my face made him sober up in the slighest second of realisation.
'could youve gotten pickpocketed?'
'no.'
'did you take it out of your jacket, used it or showed it to anyone?'
'no!'
'did you take your jacket off at some point?'
'hell no.'
'did you sit down on the ground anywhere on your walk home?'
'..'
'.. go ahead.. go look for it.'
It was a long shot.
But after 6 hours of being gone, he found it back.
There she lied, forgotten and forsaken in the dirt between some middle-aged-woman's pettunias.
And now she is back, oh yes she is.
But there is no doubt in my mind that whoever takes first place, my husband surely treats me better than that damned box.
And if he doesn't; What's his, is mine, right?
