This weekend I am going away while my husband stays home. It’s a cruel twist that reverses our roles completely, as he will be in charge of everything household-related.
I say cruel because he knows not what the day holds within the walls of our house. Nobody really does. It's frightening. Each day I sit atop a menacing undercurrent – today could be the day that the fridge stops working, or the internet goes out, or one of our children has several last-minute activities to do within a four hour period, all of which have to be coordinated with at least six other adults, or a school project needs to be done using cardboard boxes, glitter, and shoelaces. He doesn't see any of it, as each day he escapes to a haven where the mundane responsibilities of a homeowner don't reach him.
Now it's my turn.
I love my husband. He is no slouch. I don’t wish him ill. But when I am home, I am the default. Being the default is exhausting. I am glad that this weekend, I won’t be home to DEAL.
After all, anything can happen.
And I will be blissfully unaware of it.
And a small, mean part of me hopes that he has to deal with a little more than he usually does.
Is it wrong of me to hope that he runs out of toilet paper, only to have to replace the roll himself?
Is it wrong of me to hope that he wants to eat toast, only to find that all of our bread is in the freezer?
Is it wrong of me to hope that the smoke alarm starts chirping at 3 am?
Is it wrong of me to hope that one of the garbage cans will fill, forcing him to replace the bag?
Is it wrong of me to be glad that he has planned activities to do that require him to be on time and that he will have to motivate children to do the same?
Is it wrong of me to hope he runs out of cash so that HE WILL HAVE TO VISIT AN ATM?
I think not.