I love my husband. If you follow my other column (One Date at a Time), you can see just how much. That said, after 25 years of being together, one could say that we know how to push each other’s buttons. Now, I certainly am not easy to live with, and yes, I have done my share of things that bug him. He lets me know, too. Like how he has started playing a stupid game every night that he calls “hair soccer,” which entails kicking loose strands of my long locks into a pile on our bathroom floor and sarcastically screaming in my direction, “SCORE,” as he swoops it up to throw away. We both do these countless little things, mostly unintentional, that for other couples could cause drag-out, knockdown fights. But for us, they are just humorous interactions. They become the basis of inside jokes and the basis for a lot of my writing, too. 

That said, his habits sometimes can make me a bit crazy. Like how he will ask me to taste something after he just said, “I think this is bad!” Or the countless times he leaves things in his pants pockets and I wash them not knowing. You know what is not fun? Picking pieces of Walmart receipts and Arby’s coupons out of wet clothes! But the thing that drives me the craziest is his absolute lack of sense of time. The man thinks he can get anywhere in Orlando from our house, even if he must drive on I-4 in rush hour traffic, in 20 minutes. My Jewish genes are programmed to be early everywhere; he says his Cuban genes are programmed to be fashionably late. To make matters worse, he thinks everyone else runs on his time, too … which most of the time, they DON’T! Like the other day when our main cable box went kaput. 

Hubby, who must always have the TV on when at home (which, now that I think about it, is another button pushing thing for me), called the cable company to have them come out to fix it. The appointment was set for Saturday. We both get up early that day, me thinking because the cable guy is coming, him because he wants to go to the gym. I tell him I would like for him to be here when the cable guy comes because I really don’t know what to say or understand what is wrong with the box. He tells me not to worry: “They won’t be here until way after 10 a.m., more likely closer to noon.” And with that he heads out to the gym so he would be back “in time” to be here for the guy. Thinking I had plenty of “time,” after all Hubby had told me they wouldn’t be here until WAY after 10 a.m., I decide to take advantage of being up early and touch up my much-needed roots. I set up everything, mix the dye, section my hair, throw on my old robe over my PJs, and begin to dye my hair. At 9:15, with ¾ of my hair done, the doorbell rings. Surely, it couldn’t be the cable guy because we all know they never show up on time, never mind early, and besides Hubby told me they wouldn’t be here until WAY AFTER 10 a.m. Maybe it’s UPS ringing the bell to let me know a package was left at the door. I swing the door open, and boy, was I surprised with what I saw. But not as surprised as the poor cable guy standing there when he saw me! It turns out, the cable company told Hubby on the phone that they would be at our home early in the morning. Obviously, my hubby’s early and their early were a bit different! 

And so, there I was, in an old nasty bathrobe, ¾ of my hair covered in dye, the other in weird mismatched clips practically sticking straight up, chasing my two barking dogs around the house to get them outside, trying to explain what I think is wrong, while quickly pulling clothes out of my closet so he could get to the cable wire box and I could get back to dying the other ¼ of my head so it can process with the rest. Fifteen minutes later, Hubby comes walking in the back door, all smug thinking he is actually early, to find me and my new buddy, Mr. Cable Guy, both in our bathroom because what I didn’t mention before is that the closet with said cable wire box is in fact in my bathroom! Hubby takes one look at me standing at the sink with dye all over my hands, and then another glance over to the strange man standing in his wife’s closet, shrugs, and with a sarcastic smile, says, “I better at least get free pay per view for this.” To which the cable guy, who had been doing a great job keeping things very professional up to this moment, literally fell to the floor laughing! 

Don’t worry, I have secretly been getting back at my husband. I have started taking the strands from my brush and dumping them on the floor every night! “SCORE!”