Nothing to see here

Two whole weeks since my last post, which a chosen few were quick to point out this morning.  Let’s see, what have a packed in to the last two weeks….a couple of big nights out, lots of down time with my two favourite males (sorry dad) and preparing for a holiday which I both dread and relish at the exact same time.

There was mild dancing, lots of drink tickets, naked women, a Jersey Shore bar, a long, snow filled drive up north, massive heartburn, a backgammon throttling by my wife, the unrealized secret promise of red wine soaked sex, some solid laughs, some solid five boy dance party moves, some sulking and griping (me) and lots of screen time.

But best of all was last Sunday, trudging up the street to the church where the Scouts sell trees and once again finding the perfect tree and the three of us, with Tasman following with the cut branches in tow, walking our tree home down Yonge Street. We decorated it with carols in the background, lit a fire and felt the season envelope us all like a big hug from Santa.  The boys even stopped playing Wii to help.

I repeat, they stopped playing Wii to help.

So with most of our shopping done, thanks to online browsing and the vigilant research and general love of purchasing of my lovely wife, I can now spend the next 11 days wondering what to get for Steph.  With some significant purchases designated to each other, her coffee table, me ski equipment, we have overspent our limits but still want the boys to witness us opening up gifts on Christmas morning.  So I will cluck about, searching for stocking (I always want to write it stalking – inner sociopath anyone? Anyone?  Beuller?) stuffers to make her smile politely, warmly or furtively, any one of the above.

I have some traditional items to fill the massive sock, but something must be sought out to make this season, our 12th together as husband and wife, a little more special than the others.

While managing expectations is part of my job as a public relations practitioner, doing it here is obviously something I have overlooked.  Unless my lack of posting will cause her not to check for the next 11 days.

***

Tim feels the anxiety in his chest when the end of the work day approaches.  It’s a good kind of anticipatory anxiety that means he is getting closer to feeling the warm, skinny arms draped along his neck as Tatum jumps into his grasp.  There were no further e-mails from his recent crush, so all current focus was the fake ruffling of paperwork to signify to his co-workers his day was quickly coming to an end.  The fact he easily lost himself both in his work and his upcoming departure was surprising considering how eager he was to engage with Sarah earlier this morning.  Was it seeping guilt?  Sneaky indifference?  Either way his focus was now on catching the subway and the one long bus that brought him from his place of employment to his 2-bedroom semi-detached home on Douglas Avenue in the north end of the city.

Hw lng untl yr hme? 

The cold text.  Where vowels once stood, rounded and warm, now stands drunk consonants, broken and insulting.  Their unlimited text plan – 60 bucks a month thank you very much – precludes any cost savings excuse from text speak.  It was pure laziness that Tim expected from Tatum in about 10 years, not from his wife Laura.  She also knew as a professional communicator (his self imposed moniker) that any shortening of sentences or use of emoticons in chat or text was like poking him in the eye with exclamation point.

He returned the text: Barring any traffic disasters I will be home in exactly nine minutes.  Can’t wait to see my favourite girl!

Spelling out the nine, naturally.   Leaving Laura to question who he was talking about, also naturally.