Confessions That Can Save a Marriage

I am caught up in making the supper trying to avoid stepping on Greg's toes or having him step on mine as I sashay from stove, to fridge, to counter and around again.  Poor Greg is in the way, apologizing every few minutes as he crosses my path at the wrong moment nearly causing a collision.  Something about the situation reminds me of our past dancing experiences.  My mind bounces to the idea that I can "Do-si-do" in my own kitchen with stationary partners, all I need is the accompaniment of “Turkey in the Straw”.  The problem is I don’t share this insight with Greg; I simply begin moving faster and faster between my partners.

Twirling away from the counter, several steps to the fridge and the caller is suggesting I, “Take  Peek”.  The fridge opens its doors to catch me and I "Courtesy" as I snatch some carrots before being spinning away across the room.  The stove is waiting for my arrival and it is a handsome stove, so I put on my best "Promenade" moves as I make my way toward it.  Meanwhile, poor Greg is becoming more and more hapless in the middle of the kitchen.

He is trying to “Chase the Lady” or maybe he is trying to “Chase the Squirrel”.  I don’t really know.  The caller in my head isn’t announcing those moves so I’m not cooperating.  We collide once again somewhere near the garbage can and I need to manage my frustration.  He is on a mission to hug me at a very inopportune time.  You see attempting to hug someone mid-square dance and mid-supper creation creates a situation ripe for dancing calamity.  Especially when you are not included in the dance from the beginning and are completely unaware that there is any music accompaniment going on or that there is a caller in the room. 

Eventually, he senses my frustration and retreats to a stationary position on the counter stools, watching from the perimeter.  Then he drops his bombshell; “I’m bringing Martha home on Wednesday to stay overnight.”

The music in my head stops abruptly, in fact the violin squeals a little off-key before it lapses into the stillness.  My feet are glued to the floor and my arms drop to my side as I release my imaginary partners, standing stock still in the middle of the “Promenade”, a full cup of raw rice in hand poised to go into the saucepan.  Is this how marriages end I wonder?  And who is Martha?  I politely ask the caller and the violinist to leave my head since this appears to be a discussion that requires my full attention.  I abandon my need to dance and my desire to get supper cooked, and I sit down on the stool beside Greg.  Clearly, this announcement deserves my time and energy. 

I ask him to repeat himself just in case I am misunderstanding.  With a chuckle and twinkling eyes he repeats himself.  This time he adds a few more details.  He is going to go on a road trip with Martha to Slave Lake on Thursday.  My first reaction is “Martha’s a sucker, I got to go to the Mediterranean!” 

Greg continues “It will be a long day so I want to leave early, plus with the cold temperatures Martha will need to be plugged in.”

We both erupt into giggles, he is giving me all the grist I need for a fun story!  Martha the cube-van will be staying the night, and I am okay with that.  Now I probably need to come clean about the square dance music and my imaginary caller, so that Greg doesn’t just think I am just pissed off and trying to run him over in the kitchen.