I remember about 10 years ago, the kids were both young, there was a few Plops of rain on the roof and I was working part time as a Motel receptionist, (or more accurately the bloody dog’s body that did everything from answering phones to taking clean towels to the rooms). Hubby had just started with a new firm that had promised him a decent job with a reasonable pay cheque as well as interstate travel.
Not that either if us wanted to admit it but we’d started experiencing problems which we were trying to work through. One particular night I remember he came home from one of his interstate trips, the kids (both under 5) had been giving me hell for the entire time he was gone and I was tried and bad tempered.
The shit started flying some time between the kids going to bed and 10pm. It wasn’t a full blown fight but we were both tired and grumpy and when his phone rang he immediately stopped talking to me and went to answer it.
“Now there’s a surprise,” I growled at his back as he left the room. “That phone and that fucking job control your life.”
To which he replied, “Don’t kid yourself! You control my life, I just prefer work!”
10 years on we can laugh about it, at least that’s what I told him last night when we were reminiscing our years together.