We’re
finally back in town from a summer that’s been full of a lot of traveling. I
accompanied Mike on a pleasure/work trip to Poland and Israel for several
weeks. Being with your spouse while he/she is working in a foreign country is
sort of an interesting thing. Of course, women have ideas about how they want
everything to be and often, reality eclipses their fantasies. Mike warned me
months ahead of the trip. “I’m telling you. I’m not going to be available to do
much of anything. I’m going to be working about 12 hours a day so you’re going to
have to keep yourself occupied with my sister and the rest of the family.” I
would nod. “Fine, yes, I understand.” Mike would then interject. “Seriously,
Alexis, I don’t want to hear complaining about the fact that I’m not around for
dinner or shopping or touring. I’m just warning you now.”
Got
it. Jeez.
When
we arrived in Poland for the first leg of the trip, my sister-in-law,
mother-in-law and I were basically on a separate vacation. While Mike and his
film crew did what they needed to do, we lunched and dined, shopped and toured
and did absolutely everything we were supposed to do. No Mike. No problem.
After the first week of the trip, we began to wonder if Mike was ever going to
share a moment with us and reality was beginning to eclipse expectation. You
see, I, as the over dramatic wife that I am, had decided not to listen to
anything he’d told me before we left on the trip. I imagined that there would
be many breaks in the shooting schedule, that my husband would be able to whisk
me off to a quiet café in Krakow, where we’d nibble on Perogi and sip Chopin
vodka. He’d surprise me with a carriage ride in the square, during which he’d
apologize for how busy he’d been and that he’d make it up to me with a hot air
balloon ride. Instead, I was lucky if I saw him at 3am, tip toeing into our
hotel room. Maybe I’d catch him drinking a beer in the hotel lobby with his
crew. Alas, he warned me, and I just had to be wifey.
The
less time a husband and wife spend with each other, the more they bicker. It
seems like it would be the other way around-that spending less time with one
another would lead to an appreciation (something that people in long distance
relationships say to each other to make themselves feel better) but it’s just
not true. The less I saw Mike on the trip, the nastier I became. He’d say “hi”
and I’d say “nice of you to join us.” He’d say “did you already eat dinner?”
and I’d reply with a snide look and a crisp, “what do you think?” Who knew that
being together without being together would become so tiresome? But one night on
the trip, a bunch of us (obviously sans Mike) decided to head out to a bar for
some serious Polish vodka drinking. At about 1:30am, Mike joined us and as we
all strolled back to our hotel together, Mike paused in the middle of the
cobble-stoned street and grunted, “Damnit! I stepped in shit!” Uggh. All of a sudden,
I switched into helpful, sweet wife mode. “Honey? Let me look. Oh yeah, that’s
major shit.” It was as if he had some dire medical emergency. “Let’s get you
back to the hotel so we can deal with this” I announced, quickening my step,
devising a plan for scraping, washing and de-smelling our room. “You poor
thing,” I sang to him as we rushed down the street.
Outside
the hotel, I took off his shoe and dragged it against the curb, our group
watching in disgust. He stomped and shuffled and I encouraged his movements. “Yeah,
do that, that should get it. Go on. Keep going. Yup. That’s it!”
When
we got to our floor, Mike noticed a shoe shiner and buffer with a rough pad on
it—perfect for attacking the last bits of turd sandwiched between the grooves
of his Eccos. He continued to scrape, shine and buff and I sat next to him all
the while. “Perfect, honey, I think you’ve got it!” And across the hotel lobby,
I watched as our friend, Lisa Weiner, snapped a photo of us. I squinted. “Lise,
what are you doing!”
“I
can’t help it!” she replied. “That’s literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!
He steps in shit and you’re just sitting there supporting him. I love it.”
That’s
the thing about a relationship—shit happens and you come together. No more
bickering. No more looks. No more stinky poop.
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