Couples on television who have to be apart have wonderful, sweet phone conversations.
Real life is a little different. At least, I know it is in my life.
My husband and I talk every day, sometimes several times a day, while he’s taking classes toward his doctorate at Southern Miss University in Hattiesburg.
I thought about how mundane our conversations were the other day after we talked. It went something like this:
Him: Hey, what’s going on?
Me: Oh, I’m on my way to work. I didn’t sleep very well, and then when I got up, I saw that Ashton (our cat) had thrown up in about five places.
Him: Oh, no.
Me: In the kitchen, on the rug in the computer room, of course, and on the towel — thank goodness — in the kitchen chair, and on the porch.
Him: On the porch?
Me: He also woke me up at some ridiculous hour wanting to eat, and I told him I might not feed him until you got home (just kidding, folks). Should I give him that nausea medicine?
Him: Well, that’s what it’s for.
Me: Oh, and then I broke a tooth. I was taking the last bite of my muffin, and I felt a crunch. I thought it was the egg. My immediate thought was that the chicken had swallowed a rock, and somehow it got in the egg.
Him: Oh, my! Does it hurt?
Me: No, but it looks awful. I’ll have to call the dentist. I don’t have time for this. What are you doing?
Him: Reading a stats book.
Me: Oh, boy. OK, I gotta go work. Talktoyoulaterloveyoubye.
Him: Love you, too. Bye.
Our text messages are just as exciting. He reminds me to feed the dog, turn up the air conditioner when I leave, order prescriptions at the pharmacy.
We do sometimes send … pictures.
The other day, he sent me a photo of his plate and said, “I’m having lunch outside today. They had hummus here this week. It was pretty good. It had a hint of red pepper in it.”
So, the next day when I was sitting outside eating by myself at a restaurant, listening as best I could to the Shakespeare Festival that was being performed on the lawn, I sent him a photo of my view of the stage. And my salad.
I almost sent him a selfie of myself as I was sitting in the dentist’s chair, drooling, with some gadget stuck in my mouth to make the mold for my crown, but I didn’t. A photo like that, and he might have been tempted to drive right home, or it could have driven him into the arms of a little co-ed.
When I was in a discount store the other night, I overheard a woman on her cellphone say, “Oh, I love you. I miss you so much, baby!”
I got my bottle of fish-oil pills and left. They were for the cat.
I do need to call my husband and talk some trash. I’m not sure when to set it out on the curb.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or firstname.lastname@example.org.