A Vacation?

Last week, we spent our vacation in a condominium, not a hotel room, for the first time. I thought it would be a nice change of pace, and we’d save a few dollars in the bargain. When I approached my wife about it, I could tell she didn’t share my enthusiasm.

“So there’s going to be a kitchen?” she said.

“Yeah, it’s got everything you need.”

“Stove, dishwasher, microwave oven…”

“Yes.” I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. “Those are the general components of a kitchen,” I said.

“Washer-dryer?”

“We can do our own laundry. Great, huh?”

“Sure.” Not a lot of enthusiasm there.

“What’s the matter?”

“We are talking about a vacation, right?”

“Oh, come on, you cook a few meals, do a load of laundry or two. What’s the big deal?”

She threw me a look that could have cracked ice. “We’ll see.”

We took inventory when we arrived at the condo. We had plates and cups and utensils, but we hadn’t thought about all the basics we would need. We made a quick list.

“Where’d that frown come from, Missy?” I asked her. “A quick trip to the grocery store and you’ll have that kitchen stocked in no time.” Before she could respond, I said, “And don’t worry. I’ll watch the little one, of course.”

She nodded. How could she complain? We were on vacation. “We have the whole week to relax,” I said after dinner that evening. “By the way, great job with the meal.”

“Thanks. You’ve got the dishes, right?”

“I’m sorry, hon’. I promised Colleen I’d play shuffleboard with her.” I chucked her under the chin. “But keep up the good work.”

Once we had stocked the cabinets with supplies, with the exception of course of my wife’s daily trips to the supermarket and her occasional errands around town – I had forgotten a bathing suit, and a toothbrush, and we couldn’t do without suntan lotion – we could all relax and enjoy the downtime. It did strike me as odd that my wife wasn’t waking up each day with a whistle on her lips, but I chalked it up to the new surroundings.

About midweek, I was reading a book in bed when Lana collapsed on the bed. “Everything okay?” I asked.

“Just finishing up my last load of laundry,” she said, “then I can finally relax.”

“Great,” I said.

“Would you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” Anything for my wife. That’s the kind of guy I am.

“Would you get my book for me? It’s on the dresser.”

“You want me to get out of bed?”

“Oh, come on, I’ve been slaving all day.”

Conjugal exaggeration – the last thing I needed. “Okay, okay, I’ll get up.” I snatched her paperback off the top of the dresser, but something in the closet caught my eye. “What’s that?”

She lifted her head from the pillow. “What are you talking about?”

I reached down and wheeled out the contraption. “Look what I found.” I held it up so she could see. “A vacuum!”

“You better put that down,” she said.

“Don’t worry, it’s not that heavy.”

After I woke up from my night on the couch, I began to see things in a different light. Maybe I could help out around the condo, do a few chores, give my wife a break. Just one question: “who’s going to make breakfast?”