158. Husband's Infuriating habits (1)

 We were off for a weekend in Shakespeare's land. My husband, dressed, breakfasted and good to go, came up the stairs to wake us all up.

'Come on! Quick! Get up! Hurry up! We're going to miss that shuttle!'

He placed a mug of freshly brewed coffee on the bedside table. I  sat up and sipped it all the while shouting orders to my family, feeling like the powerful queen of the country we were about to visit. 

'Put my wellies in the boot!' 

And:

'Make sure my camera bag goes in the front!'

Or:

'Remember the passports!'

Once the storm of everyone breakfasting and loading the car was over I too got ready. My husband was still running up and down the stairs of our two-story townhouse trying to get his bunch of unruly kids in the car. 

'Get going, you lot! We're going to miss that shuttle if you don't hurry up!'

'What on earth have you got in this bag?'

'No sweets in the car! It's 6 AM!!!!'

And so on.

Once everything and everyone was in the car, I had a quick look around, locked the front door and got in the car too. My husband started it, still making comments about how late we were and how we were going to miss that shuttle he had booked us on.

No-one listened to him. No-one cared: we were off!

Going through customs was always a time-consuming procedure: a big car, lots of bags, lots of passports, lots of noisy wriggling kids at the back.

'Can your child take off his hat, please?' The custom officer said.

'Take that silly hat off, please!' Dad scowled.

The hat came off. But while the silly hat came off the silly sunglasses came on.

'And the sunglasses, please.' The custom officer said, bored as he was trying to take a count of all these fidgety kids.

'Right! You lot! Show your faces and sit still or we turn round and go back home!'

The custom officer looked relieved and nodded a thank you. Finally we were through. But as we approached the terminal area and looked at the boards it became obvious that we had missed our shuttle. 

'Never mind.' I said. 'Let's go for a cup of coffee.'

My husband had had a cup at home, which he'd probably abandoned in the corridor with dregs of sweet milky tea at the bottom which I would moan about once we got back home. But for now I was happy to stop and enjoy the slight change of ambiance that the terminal shops and cafés provided, a mise-en-bouche for what was to come ...

I had had no breakfast (the downside of my queenly start) so I grabbed a muffin to go with the coffee.

The kids were hyper already and were wandering around no doubt already spotted as the ones with the useless set of parents. But we did not care; we were on holiday. After a while I looked at the board.

'W ...' I said mysteriously, looking up. My husband looked up and nearly spat out his coffee.

'W? ... That's our letter! ... 2mn! ... We've got 2 minutes!'

He got up knocking his fancy spindly chair over. 

'Where are these kids?' He bellowed. 

The hall went a little quiet and some people turned towards us. No-one could call us the useless parents now.

In a mad rush we collected the kids, our bags and our coffees and ran across the building, outside into the parking lot, piled into the car and drove off as the kids were still fiddling with their seat belts. In a way we were lucky. There seemed to be a problem and there was a long queue of vehicles which we joined just in time. After the mad rush, everything came to a standstill.

'What's going on?' I asked.

'Am not sure ... But we'll be on that train. That's the main thing. Dont' want to miss two shuttles in a row!'

We sat quietly, everyone trying to assess the situation and the consequences.

'I should have gone to the toilets.' My husband said.

'My coffee's stone cold.' I added miserably.

The traffic was not moving. People were getting oit of their cars for breath of fresh air and a look around to see what the problem was. All the way at the top the queue we could see neon jackets scurrying around and square black silhouettes which looked like heavy duty police.

'There must be a problem.' I said.

'I really need the toilet.' My husband replied. 'This traffic's not moving at all.'

'Dad! There are policemen over there! And police cars! I can see flashing lights!' The kids were staring out of the window, a little concerned.

But all my husband could think about was going for a pee. I could see him looking around like some wild animal searching for shelter. 

'I could just get out just for a second ... If the traffic moves, just take the wheel ... '

'I'm not sure ... can't you hang on a bit?' I said.

The traffic showed no sign of improvement and there seemed to be more police cars, more furious flashing in the distance. 

My husband ignored my advice, opened the door and slipped out. The kids were a little tense.

'What's dad doing? Where is he going?'

'I think he needs a wee-wee.' My son said. 

I was all at the same time watching the kids in the rear mirror, my husband heading for the trees, the traffic and the steering wheel to assess how long it would take me to take over the controls. I double checked to see if my husband was really heading towards the trees for a pee. He was!!!

I observed him. He crossed the road and got to the grassy area, looking up as if to admire the pathetic spindly trees scattered around, he then headed for the nearest tree and half disappeared behind it. He was obviously relieving himself. But, out of the corner of my eye, shadows seemed to appear, fast-moving shadows that my mind refused to acknowledge. 

'Mum! Mum! Look! The police!' The kids started shouting.

'Mummy, are they going to arrest daddy?'

Goodness! The kids were right! A squad of policemen appeared from nowhere and were heading towards my husband! Luckily he had noticed and was running towards the car, doing his fly up at the same time. We should have been taken over by fear and anxiety and panic. Yet all of us in the car burst out laughing. Once we'd started laughing we could not stop. The kids were hysteric with laughter. I tried to tell them to stop because I felt the police would not like it! But to no avail ... 

I was now laugh out loud too, tears streaming from my eyes. I was holding the wheel just in case I had to drive. Meanwhile my husband was legging it across the lawn. It was like being in an action movie. Was he going to make it? The kids were howling with laughter at the back. I leant over and opened the door for him as he got close to the car. He got in and by some miracle the traffic started to move. He quickly manoeuvred the car into the fastest lane. The kids were looking out of the rear window to see if the policemen were going to chase us.

'Go daddy! Faster! Faster! ...'

I looked too. The policemen were talking onto their radio handsets. I could imagine them saying: 'terrorist scare over - I repeat terrorist scare over'. 

We laughed all the way during the crossing when we pointed out the toilets, along the motorway when we saw toilet signs in service stations. We still laugh out loud at the mere mention of it today.