it's 8:50, do you know where your wife is?
8:30 am: mrs w rolls out of bed. i see her walk towards the stairs out of one sleepy eye
"where ya going?"
"uh, downstairs"
8:31 am: that's kind of weird. i guessing she's feeling motivated to get the coffee maker started. but still, saturdays are for sleeping in! oh well.
8:40 am: hmm, why don't i hear anything downstairs?
8:41 am: call out her name with no response. weird
8:42 am: go downstairs. where the hell is she? not in the guest room (where her closet is). not in the bathroom (on the off chance she wanted to start the day with a bath).
8:43 am: call her cell phone. shit, it's sitting right here on the counter.
8:45 am: ok, pull it together. check if her keys are gone. yup. look in the garage to see if her car is gone. yup. ok, she probably went to san francisco coffee to get us breakfast.
8:46 am: wait, her keys are in my car from last night. run to my car. they're on the floor. run back to the apt. her spareset is gone. but the ipod is still here.
8:47 am: two scenarios emerge:
8:49 am: could she have gone to early morning yoga? hmm, odd that she wouldn't even say good morning, but maybe she didn't want to wake me up. should i call jen? yeah, i'll call jen. leave somewhat frantic message with jen.
8:50 am: call moe. he's an eagle scout. shit, he's not up. leave message
8:51 am: emily and jim will know what to do. but they might be sleeping in. ok, call the beav's cell phone. leave message
8:53 am: i should eat breakfast. and where the hell are my glasses? i can't see anything. gotta calm down. can't eat breakfast. imagine the article: while his wife is abducted, psychopathic husband eats cereal and reads npr.org.
9:00 am: mrs wintermute walks in with two bags of groceries, takes one look at my face and says, "uh oh, i had a feeling you might freak out." she went to publix to surprise me with banana pancakes, oj, and bacon.
she's the best wife ever.
i'm the most paranoid husband ever.
"where ya going?"
"uh, downstairs"
8:31 am: that's kind of weird. i guessing she's feeling motivated to get the coffee maker started. but still, saturdays are for sleeping in! oh well.
8:40 am: hmm, why don't i hear anything downstairs?
8:41 am: call out her name with no response. weird
8:42 am: go downstairs. where the hell is she? not in the guest room (where her closet is). not in the bathroom (on the off chance she wanted to start the day with a bath).
8:43 am: call her cell phone. shit, it's sitting right here on the counter.
8:45 am: ok, pull it together. check if her keys are gone. yup. look in the garage to see if her car is gone. yup. ok, she probably went to san francisco coffee to get us breakfast.
8:46 am: wait, her keys are in my car from last night. run to my car. they're on the floor. run back to the apt. her spareset is gone. but the ipod is still here.
8:47 am: two scenarios emerge:
- she went to get us breakfast
- she came downstairs to get something and surprised an armed intruder. he forced her out at gunpoint and is making her drive him somewhere.
8:49 am: could she have gone to early morning yoga? hmm, odd that she wouldn't even say good morning, but maybe she didn't want to wake me up. should i call jen? yeah, i'll call jen. leave somewhat frantic message with jen.
8:50 am: call moe. he's an eagle scout. shit, he's not up. leave message
8:51 am: emily and jim will know what to do. but they might be sleeping in. ok, call the beav's cell phone. leave message
8:53 am: i should eat breakfast. and where the hell are my glasses? i can't see anything. gotta calm down. can't eat breakfast. imagine the article: while his wife is abducted, psychopathic husband eats cereal and reads npr.org.
9:00 am: mrs wintermute walks in with two bags of groceries, takes one look at my face and says, "uh oh, i had a feeling you might freak out." she went to publix to surprise me with banana pancakes, oj, and bacon.
she's the best wife ever.
i'm the most paranoid husband ever.
posted by Wintermute at 12:39 AM
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