So I plied my husband with wine last night with the express intent of garnering any information I could with regard to the before mentioned trip on which we are to depart next week. (Did you know I just used “with” three times in this sentence? Best to pull out my Thesaurus next time I come to write.)
You see, he has this cute little thing he does when he’s hiding something or telling a white lie. It is a smirk along with the slightest flaring of his nostrils. It is a never fail, telltale sign. (Blogger’s note: This dude does NOT lie (or well)!). Dang it, if he didn’t do it once, which means he’s either been practicing how not to do it, or I didn’t hit any nails.
My first try, after the first glass of wine, made mention of Zika; the flu-like virus transmitted through mosquito bites and sex. I said I should probably load up on bug spray just in case. Nothing.
After the second glass of wine, I pursued the clothing angle. I told him I didn’t have any swimwear at home, and he’d have to swim alone if there were beaches or pools involved. He didn't seem concerned. Just to cover my bases, I threw in that I didn’t have any ski clothing laying around either. They're all in our storage unit. Nothing!
After the third glass of wine…Listen, a girl’s got to try everything! NOTHING!
I actually thought I could snag him someway, somehow. He’s tight as a drum! Even my best friend, who didn’t behave as if she’s on “Team Gina” when she declared he should withhold all information until within a 24-hour window, won't budge. Either!
I don't know if I can handle it. I have five days until I know something, I think. I don't know if I can handle it. Maybe I’ll come up with some tricks to pull out tonight. Because I don’t know if I can handle it.
In truth, I want to know, and I don't want to know.