my disorganized husband makes me nutsMy husband and I have vastly different views on organization and travel preparedness. I am an obsessive travel planner and spend days…nay, weeks…planning my needs with lists and visions of potential changes that may affect my scheduled wardrobe. I even pack multiple versions of items like toothpaste, hosiery, and deodorant because, you know, there is a possibility there may not be a CVS store on every corner of my intended destination. Or, I may become incapacitated and need to smell minty fresh whilst recuperating. You never know…

My husband goes on a week-long trip every year. He knows the date of his departure six months in advance. In my mind, this gives him 180 days to plan for his needs. In his mind, this gives him 90 minutes.

Usually, I take the day off before his trip trying to help him get ready but, because I have been so busy with work, I was unable to do so this year.  I warned him he was on his own and heard nothing from him so I assumed he was good to go.

Until an hour before he was to leave and I heard “Heyyy….”

(Note:  He knows it pisses me off to no end when he asks me if we have something mere minutes before we need to be somewhere so he prefaces it with a long “Heyyy….” to try to soften the blow.)

Hubs:  “Heyyy….do we have any extra trash bag ties?”

Me:  “No, we use the kind that have the string attached and, if you ever got acquainted with the trash can and actually changed the bag, you would know this.”  I did not even want to know WHY one would need trash bag twist ties at 6 am.

Hubs:   “Heyyy…. I’m out of toothpaste. Can I take yours? And shampoo, deodorant, razors, too?”

Me:  “Sure. I have no need for personal hygiene today.” I did not even want to know how long he has been out of these things and “winging” it.

Five minutes pass. “Heyyy…do you know how I put an “out of office” message on my company email?”  Note:  He has worked there for 10 years. I have not.

Me:   (No answer because I am dumbfounded and seriously considering smothering him with a pillow.)

Hubs:  “Heyyy….Can I take your car? Mine is out of gas and that red light thingy is going off.”

Me:  “You need to leave. Now.”

Three blissful hours after his departure I get a text:

Hubs:  “Heyyy…If you lose a blank check, can someone use the account number and take all your money?”

Me:  “Why, yes, Inspector Clouseau, they can. Is this a hypothetical question or have you just secured our financial ruin?”

Hubs:  “It fell out of my wallet. The checkbook has artwork on the front and two blank checks in it.”

I dashed to his office with a shovel and began to look for the checkbook. I found it but my elation was quickly replaced with horror when I saw that the “artwork” he was referring to was a photo of Mr. Potato Head!

This meant not only was I married to the most disorganized man in the world but, apparently, a graduate of the “Grand Masters of Playskool Art Appreciation” class.

Me:  “You mean the one with Mr. Potato Head on it?”

Hubs:  “Yes! That’s it! You found it!”

Me:   “Yes, I did and we are OK. But, when you get back, we are going to have to have a serious conversation about what constitutes art.”

This was day one of his trip. I can’t wait to see what kind of shenanigans happen during the next five. Heaven help me! I better stock up on vodka so I am prepared.


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