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I almost went on a date with my wife. Once again, life logjammed logistics. When did it become so difficult for married couples to schedule a night out together?
Ever since Terry and I vowed to spend the rest of our lives together, we've spent the rest of our lives trying to get together.
Kids, parents, meetings, medical emergencies, chores, work -- everything rolls into one great big conspiracy to keep couples apart.
It hasn't helped that Terry and I worked opposite shifts most of our married life. About the time she set sail home from her day job, I'd cast off for my night shift. Ships passing in the night. Or cars crossing in the driveway.
I didn't realize how bad the situation had become until that day several months ago when I dragged home from work at 3 a.m., shuffled through the door, and nearly had a heart attack when I saw an unfamiliar woman on my couch.
The woman smiled. "Wouldn't it be nice just to be able to go a movie together?"
I dropped my satchel and clutched my chest. "Who are you?"
She stood and held out her hand. "Terry. Cole."
My eyebrows arched.
"Your wife."
"Oh." Then I said those words she longed to hear: "May I see some ID, please?"
She showed me her driver's license. And our wedding photo.
I collapsed in my easy chair. "I wondered who kept moving my stuff." I looked up. "Is that what happened to the laundry?"
Terry plopped in my lap and put her arms around my neck. "So, want to make plans to go see a movie or something?"
"How about the Looney Tunes collection? Oh, and there's 'Peter Pan.' I've always liked that one."
She shook her head. "Not one of your cartoons. And not here. I mean going out. Like we used to do before we were married."
"We did that?"
"We had time then. Now we're always on the run."
I nodded. "OK, let's be brave and daring. Let's go on a date."
We dug out the smartphones that run our lives, and navigated the screens to our calendars.
"I'm free the 6th."
"Extra work shift. The 8th is open."
"Grandson's soccer game. The 11th?"
"Surgery."
"Yours or mine?"
"My sister. I'm taking her."
"Phew. What's the 13th look like?"
"Deadline for the Brogan project. The 22nd?"
"Volunteer night at the mission. The 27th."
"You promised to help the Millers sort and file their records."
"Nuts. All that's left is the 28th."
"I'm open."
"Really? We have a date!"
It was the date that the water pipe broke in the basement. We got company when we tried again two weeks later. Ten days later, I fell off a ladder. As I writhed on the ground, I groaned, "I don't think we were meant to date."
But last week we finally did it. Out of the house! In the car! Together! On. A. Date! Finally, we'd watch a romantic comedy instead of being one.
We pulled into a surprisingly empty parking lot.
Terry pointed at the building door. "What's the sign on the door say?"
"'Closed -- Power Outage.'"
"Now what?"
I pulled out a couple emergency Snickers bars. "Here's some fine dining. Tune in the oldies station and I'll twirl you around the light pole."
It was the day I almost went on a date with my wife.
— Send dating tips to burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or to the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.