Our life was a paradise for two or three weeks. Then one day it changed. It started normally enough. I said, "Bye, I'm going to work." "I'll see you when you get home, you beautiful creature," he responded, as if he too were going to work. When I got home that night, I found my husband in a leg cast, on Vicodin, watching TV. "What happened?" I asked, bracing myself to hear about a car accident or some such thing. "My knee's been hurting so I thought I'd get it operated on while I'm covered by your insurance and mine from work before they fire me." Gasp! "You had a planned surgery without telling me?" "You're getting fired?" My handsome husband in an overly starched suit was now a soon to be unemployed invalid wearing a robe. "In sickness and in health," I remember the judge saying in front of a hundred people at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.
"They were going to can me any day, so I figured I'd surprise them and call in sick." I'm a positive person. I went to bed that night thinking, "This is good." I work a lot and now he can be Mr. Mom and bond with the kids, help them with their homework, cook dinner, etc. I spend nearly two thousand a month on the nanny and now I can let her go and my convalescing husband will be in charge.