My son left home, started his own family…and turned into a deserter.  One weekend he was home and was having coffee with me that Saturday morning in the kitchen.  His Mom had a meeting she had to attend and was upstairs getting ready.  She was scheduled to pick up a co-worker at 8:30.  It was now 8:20 and the lady lived 20 minutes away. 

My wife is 5 foot 4 and weighs about 115 pounds.  That’s not big. Still, she came thundering down the steps sounding like a herd of elephants, yelling my name in a panic.  My wonderful son, said, “Dad, you’re on your own,” and the deserter evaporated. 

My wife rushed through the door, quickly turned to face away from me and revealed the entire back of her dress gaping open.  “Button me up” she said holding back her voice to a quiet panic.  “And hurry up, I’m late.”  This she said to a man facing 20 tiny buttons.

As I fumbled with the dress, she began brushing her hair, and I got a severe case of the stupids.  “Honey,” I said, “hold still so I can button these things.”  I don’t remember her saying a word, but there was an instant chill in that kitchen that would have cured meat for two years.  I just silently nodded my head, said “yes m’am,” and plowed away at the buttons.

Finally when I finished, she turned and said, “Where are my car keys?  Do you have any money?  I hate this dress.”  Then she paused and added, “Does this dress match my shoes, and don’t you lie to me about the way I look.”

Trying to lighten the situation, I said, “Honey, you look beautiful. I think wearing one blue shoe and one black shoe makes quite a statement.  Have you thought of adding a scarf?”

My wife looked down at her feet in shock, and realized instantly that I was just teasing.  She rushed out the door and shut it with a firmness I’ve not heard since.

In the remaining silence, I heard Mr. Deserter snickering out in the hall.  “Son,” I said, “I wish you lived here with us.”  He said, “why thanks, Dad.  That’s nice.”  "No it isn’t, I replied.  I would ground you for a month."