I’m afraid that I’m going to have to murder my husband and leave his body out for the neighbor dogs to eat. It is sort of sad, really, but he’s driving me to it.

For two years I’ve had this urge in the winter to go to Montreal. I’ve mentioned this to him. Yesterday I mentioned it again. He replies, “I’m going to Montreal.” Turns out that he is going in January for a meeting. The only reason I did not attach myself to this business trip is that the week he is going I am going to a vet conference in Florida. Let’s see, where do I want to be in January – Montreal or Florida? I think I have the better trip. But I am definately scheduling a trip to Montreal this spring.

Then not a half hour later we are discussing changing a lightbulb in the arena. It has a 16 foot ceiling and he doesn’t like to climb the ladder. I said I didn’t have a problem doing it. He said he would do it but only if I was there to call 911 if he fell. I’ve seen people sputter in cartoons but I didn’t think it happened in real life. But I sputtered. (To review – I did fall in the arena and was unable to walk and alone. But I got myself to the car and drove to the hospital. When I finally got ahold of him the NEXT DAY he YELLED at me for disturbing his meeting. Over the next few months he would look at me as I hobbled past on crutches and ask in wonder and amazement why I felt the need to call him after the accident.) So yeah, I sputtered. Then I told him that I would shake the ladder to make him fall and I would leave him there and we could discuss it in a few days.