All in a Day's Drama

Honorable Mention--2006 Erma Bombeck Writer's Contest!!!

The phone was ringing, as usual, at an inopportune time.

“Well, how high is it today?”

I was in the middle of fixing dinner; daughter number one was downstairs cursing the computer and printer, while daughter number two was stomping around upstairs yelling about missing dance shoes. I was not interested in guessing games.

“Give me a minute and I’ll see if I can fix it,” I called down to the basement. Then, “Your dance shoes are in the laundry room,” I barked up the stairs to the second floor. “What are you talking about?” I asked my husband, as I finally turned my attention to the phone.

“You know, the drama-meter,” he said. “Sounds like it’s at about a seven.”

“What in the world is the ‘drama-meter’?” I asked.

“It’s what I use to decide what time I’m going to leave the office and how much I should talk when I get home.”

I huffed in frustration. “Honey, I’m right in the middle of fixing dinner, and the girls are having mini-meltdowns. I’m not in the mood for riddles at the moment.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he said. “When I call home at the end of the day, I try and gauge the general mood of the house. If it sounds like things are relatively calm, the drama-meter reads low, like a two or three. If I hear yelling from one of the girls, the number goes up to about a five or six. Both girls yelling takes it up another notch, and crying always rates a nine or ten. Once I determine how high it is, I decide when to come home and how much to say when I get there.”

“You know, I don’t think that’s very funny,” I replied.

“I agree. It’s not funny at all. It’s a matter of survival. Since David is living at school, I’m on my own over there with three women and a female dog. Sometimes it’s not a safe place for a guy to be. You have to know how to read the situation and respond appropriately.”

“I may respond by not speaking to you for the rest of the day,” I snarled.

“And, no offense, honey, but that would be fine. If you’ve had a rough day with the girls, just let me know, and I’ll be only too happy to steer clear until the dust settles. I’ll just sit and eat dinner quietly and read the paper. What time should I come home?”

“How about some time next week?” I snapped. Then, I sighed, struck by the realization that, though I hated to admit it, he had a point. “Sorry, just a gut reaction. Dinner will be ready in about a half hour, come home whenever you’re ready. I’ll try and have the drama-meter turned down to about a two by the time you get here.”

“As only you can do,” he said.

Three women and a female dog. You gotta feel for the guy.

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