Mr. Parsons

As I sat at the table in the kitchen nook, I could hear the patter of feet as my wife was scurrying from one part of the second floor to the other. I had been married to that woman for over twenty years, so I knew exactly what she was doing. Making and then remaking the beds, picking every scrap of lint or dust off the floors, and making the place so clean that it would have made my drill sergeant from boot camp blush. As annoying as it was to hear her bounce from one side of the second floor to the other, whcih was quite similar to hear a ball slamming around a pinball game, I knew better to say anything. This was just how she dealt with the stress that came to her from hosting guests.

I wasn't as worried, and preferred to not make everything perfect. I didn't want them to think that I was O.C.D. or obsessed with details. Heaven forbid that the people who worked for me learned that I was just as human and capable of leaving a sock out of the damn laundry hamper. The whole point of having people come up to the cabin was for these employees to get used to their boss and realize I'm just one of the guys, someone they can talk to without being scared. The wife's obsession with making the floors clean enough to eat off of wasn't helping the cause.

I had a cup of tea and some oatmeal for breakfast. Raisins & Spices was my favorite oatmeal but I would occasionally sneak a box of Peaches & Cream whenever the old lady wasn't looking. I took care of myself so I knew that there was nothing wrong with an occasional treat to reward myself for being disciplined and an all round awesome dude. What can I say? Self praise is clearly better than none.

I looked up and realized she was in the kitchen. I had gotten so distracted by what i was reading that I never heard those footsteps descend the stairs. I was also getting a glare that was all too familiar to all husbands. We call it 'the glare'.

"What?" I would ask. The standard response of a man who has no idea what he's done to offend his better half.

"We have guests coming over!" She called out.

"I'm well aware of that," I replied with a pinch of sarcasm. "I invited them."

"Well, shouldn't you be helping?" my wife called out, her frustration evident.

"I am helping." I politely corrected.

"Oh really," She replied, "And how the hell are you doing that?"

"By staying out of your way," I answered, "And also by doing what I do at my normal job: supervising. I wouldn't recommend trying this at home unless..."

"Unless what?" she asked.

"Unless you are observed by a trained professional." I said, smiling at her and doing everything I could not to laugh in her face.

Rather than argue with my logic, the wife huffed her frustration and then bolted back up the stairs to check the guest rooms for the millionth time.

"Don't get all bent out of shape," I called out, unsure if she was listening. "It's only eleven in the morning! None of them are expected till at least three o'clock!"

"You say that," She called back from the second floor, "but one should never underestimate the power of a dedicated brown noser!"

"It's not even noon!" I called out, "They were told to come before supper. There's no way any of them are showing up before lunch."

My wife came back down the stairs, and she looked tired.

"Alright," she finally conceded. "I'll make a cup of coffee and we'll rest on the front porch."

"Fantastic," I said, as I stood up to join her. "I'll meet you out there!"

I grabbed what was left of my tea and walked out the front door. we had a nice swinging couch that I loved rocking on, and I took a seat and sighed deeply. No one had even arrived yet, and the misses was already close to pulling her hair out. I could only imagine what kind of wreck she was going to be on Sunday after it was all said and done. I may live dangerously but I was not suicidal, as I have a cleaning service on retainer and ready to show up on Monday if needed. If the place got seriously trashed, whcih has happened before, I was ready to deal with it. As my wife arrived with a fresh cup of coffee for herself, I greet her with a warm smile as she sat down beside me and joined in the soft swing I had already started.

"This is nice," She confessed.

"It's why I bought this place." I also admitted, "The place was nice, but this swing clinched the deal for me. This place was sold the moment I first sat down."

"Hot tub helps too," the wife added.

"Yes, it most certainly does." I said, laughing out loud.

"So how many are coming up here?" she asked.

"Just six people," I answered, "Three workers, and their significant others."

"They're all married?" my wife asked.

"No," I replied, "Only one couple is, the other two are living in sin. You are more than welcome to pressure them like a cranky religious mother if that's what you want to do."

"Tempting," my wife said, thinking about it. "I am pretty good dishing out the catholic guilt."

"Yes, you are." I agreed without hesitation.

"I'll think about it," she decided, "based on who gets here first and when."

"Interesting idea," I said, "That still gives us a few hours to relax."

"Are you sure about that?" my wife said, pointing at the long driveway. "Cause there's a brown noser in the distance, closing in fast."

"What the hell?" I said, standing up to take a closer look. And she was right, one of our guests was about to show up super early. "Son of a bitch."

"Interesting," my wife said as she also stood up to walk back into the house. "The power of the brown noser is strong with this one."

"No shit," I said as I waved to the car as it pulled up. "Now we have to serve them lunch. Do we have enough here?"

"We'll make do." the wife said, disappearing into the house. "Maybe they had a big breakfast."

"Doubtful," I said, walking down the stairs. "Knowing our luck, they skipped breakfast to make better time to get her sooner."

I watched as the first car pulled up and parked next to my vehicle. I took a deep breath and realized that fate wasn't going to let my wife and I have that breather. The work was already about to begin, and the weekend retreat was under way.