Fuzzy’s working late again tonight, and I know his brain is fried, because he typo’d in IM in such a fashion that it made me worry for his job. (It was just a typo. His job is fine.)
Whenever he goes to work in inclement weather, or stays so late at night, I remember my mother teasing me about the day he wanted to drive in despite there being a freeway closure because a building exploded. “Make sure you’ve got affordable life insurance,” she said. “And make sure the policy is updated.”
On the surface, it’s funny, but the reality is that the one thing I don’t have to worry about is what might happen AFTER, if, God forbid, something…happens. We’re covered well enough that the house would be paid off, and then some.
But, I do worry that Fuzzy works too hard, that he isn’t sleeping well.
And I confess that as soon as I know he’s on the road, I barely breathe til I know he’s home.
Yes, sometimes I’m that much of a stereotypical wife.