The Number You Have Reached Has Been Disconnected... From Reality

It was December 1st. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe that it was January 1st and J-Fed would get knocked in the noggin with a chestnut and resolve to become a loving, equal partner overnight. But twas not to be...

In the spirit of the holiday season, I've called a truce with my hated hubby. It had been a whole 48 hours that we'd been playing nice. So what if he'd been absent for about 47 of those hours? I really thought we were making progress. Until the call...

It was another morning in the home of Mr. and Mrs. J-Fed. I dressed our 5-year-old, fed the baby, gave the dogs their food, cleaned the kitchen, started a load of laundry, took out the trash and started drafting up a policy for world peace kidding on the last one. J-Fed meanwhile rolled out of bed, smoked a cigarette, sipped on a Frap and did zilch. Nada. Nunca. Nuttin.

I bid him adieu as he left work and breathed a sigh of relief once I was again without his company. Then came the call. He had been gone all of five minutes. What in God's name could he possibly want?

It's hard to explain the feeling that washes over me when I see his number displayed on caller ID, but I'll try. I'd imagine it's much like the feeling that prisoners of war get before they have their toenails ripped out by a rusty pair of pliers. Ok so it's not that bad, but it's got to be close.

Anyways, the call went something like this...

"I talked to my sister last night. She really wants us to come up and visit her," he said sweetly. "I was thinking we could go after the holidays, like a family trip."

Whoooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaa. Let's just pause for a moment, shall we? Over the last year and a half, I've tried multiple times to get J-Fed to take a family vacation, namely to my parent's second home in the mountains. Multiple times he's pulled some stunt to get out of it while we forged on without him. Last time, I believe he had to "work." Yeah, work on getting drunk at the nearby bar.

Just imagine my shock when he proposed a "family" vacation. On his terms, of course. Inside my hardened heart, I knew there was an ulterior motive behind his newfound desire to travel.

"Is there a track nearby?" I asked curiously, unable to hold my tongue.

"Yeah, I figured you could shop with the kids while I raced," he admitted. Like Mulder and Scully I knew the truth was out there.

Dear J-Fed, you truly are a piece of work. Or a piece of ^&*. If I wanted to shop, I could drive five minutes to the mall and leave the kids with my mother while I indulge in a stress-free spree. If I want to shop, the last thing I'm going to do is pile a whiney 5-year-old and a colicky newborn into a small SUV to have you tailgate every car on the road for eight hours so that you can drive your little racecar while I suffer the unbearable brunt of your selfish whims.

"I don't think so," I replied curtly.

"Fine. I'll just take the kids and go by myself," he snapped back. LAUGH OUT LOUD. REALLY LOUD. Surrrrrreeeeeeeeeee. J-Fed. Two kids. Eight hours in the car. I knew damn well he wouldn't even make it out of our subdivision, if he even made it out of the driveway.

"Whatever, J," I said icily before hanging up on his sorry self.

The one thing I can say is that J-Fed is nothing if not consistent. And for that I'm grateful as I always know exactly what to expect. He never lets me down.

Unhappily ever after,

Kiki