On Husbands

Tuesday was my first day of school. There are few people out there that have had as many first day's of school as I have. As a child they were a mix of anxiety, anticipation, and sadness. Now I am just so glad to be going back to school. I love school

It was a typical first day of school. The weather in Houston warmed up to the high, humid 70's and this was a great reprieve from the hard freeze we just had. (I guess Houston's weather may be another entry all together.) One class looks great and the other was a bit painful. On the way out a kid behind me asked, "Does anyone else teach this?" to which his friend replied, "Yeah, but he's just as bad." I guess I had been in the good section and then the professor died. A girl next to me said, "We just missed it by a semester." I'm hopeful that the current professor will recover from having a class dropped in her lap at the last minute.

Now, U of H is a big commuter campus. There are lots of parking lots and a parking pass may be more important than your student ID in getting you in to places. Schools like Columbia and NYU won't even let you in the building without a student ID. I haven't even taken the time to have my ID for U of H made yet. My parking pass, however, I ordered as soon as my schedule was confirmed. It was supposed to come in the mail, and everyday it didn't come made me more and more worried. I thought that it would arrive over the weekend.

Before I was married but after I moved away from my parents, I knew that if my dad was calling me on the phone it meant that my mom was out of town. Of course we would talk other times, but after my mom had handed him the phone. Once he was left alone for a few hours he would get bored and lonely and call my sister and me.

Now that I am married, I know that if my dad is calling it is to ask, "Is Frank there?" If he was calling to ask Frank to a ballgame or some other kind of fun male bonding this might make me jealous, but he is calling to ask Frank if he wants to help him fix his computer or stereo or whatever, the kind of male bonding I'm glad to have dodged.

This past weekend my mom and I took a trip to Marfa, TX, and it was awesome, but a different story. My sister also took advantage of the long weekend and visited a friend. Before she left, she gave Frank some sage advice, "You should get my dad to take you out to dinner. Whenever my mom leaves I always get a good dinner, but I won't be here so you should have Man's night."

I heard that Man's night was a success and I was glad to hear that while they went to a restaurant my mother won't go to, everyone stayed out of trouble.

When I got back I asked Frank if he had seen my parking tag, because I was really starting to worry. He said that a whole lot of mail had come for me from U of H, but that he couldn't find Saturday's mail. If you've seen his "office" this doesn't come as a surprise. I asked him to look for it.

Tuesday arrived and my parking tag still hadn't. Frank wasn't looking as hard for Saturday's mail as he should have been, so I made him drive me to school and pick me up. What else was I going to do! I couldn't park.

Tuesday night I started going through the mail from that day and shredding the junk. We have a backlog of stuff to be shredded so I dug into that, and what did I find but my parking tag. It was in an envelope that had been torn in half and it appeared to have been partially eaten.

The mail is delivered through the door and falls on the floor. Frank saw the mail fall on Saturday and never picked it up. The dog picked it up and chewed through as much as she could. Frank then found the shredded mail and assumed that it was garbage and put it in the shred pile.

Now, we don't leave the puppy outside of the crate when we leave the house. So Frank saw the mail on the floor, left it there and then didn't watch the puppy closely enough to realize she was eating it while he was home. When I found the parking pass I was pretty incredulous. I was glad that I was the only one who bothered to shred anything. Much like I am the only one who bothers to pick mail up off of the ground or watch the puppy. I sort of feel like in this story Frank is a husband from a sitcom.

I guess it is nothing a little duct tape can't fix.