Weekend Woes

It’s happened again. I just don’t know what to do. It’s not as if Lee’s ‘on duty’ 24/7. When Seaview’s  docked, unless the boss has scheduled a meeting or there’s something’s so wrong with the boat Lee has to be there, he’s supposed to be working 8-5 M-F, just like the rest of us, not nights, not weekends.

 But oh no, Lee has ‘too many things to do’, ‘too many things to get caught up on’, ‘too much of this, too much of that’…so by the time he’s satisfied taking care of all of those pesky details, the evenings and yes, even the weekends (well, a lot of them) are already shot to hell and it seems all I get him for lately is bed!

Not that that’s a bad thing. He’s pretty incredible under the sheets.  And it’s great to  wake  up next  to him and maybe, just maybe,  continue our evening’s pleasures by the dawn’s early light.(Patriotic drum roll please) But all too often he gives me ‘oops, can’t just now, sweetie, I  forgot something, have to dash.’ Or ‘I’ll see you later for lunch.’ Or ‘Sorry, I’ll see you for dinner.’ Then ‘Oops, forget dinner, I forgot I needed to complete some overdue reports’, etc. etc. etc.

 Don’t they have other people to do the blasted reports? And why are they always overdue?

Nights and weekends are supposed to be our time, not the damn office or boat’s!

Well, I told him so!  He apologized, sort of. At least he said he was sorry and gave me a wonderful smoochy kiss, the kind that pretty much melts me down to my toenails. But then he told me that his   personal life sometimes has to take second place to his professional. As if I didn’t know that by now!  And he knows that I know that. You can’t work at NIMR and not know that.  Why do they always need him? Can’t he delegate?  He’s a sub Captain. It’s not that he doesn’t know how!

And sometimes the long arm of the Navy butts in! Damn it, he’s not in the Navy! Well okay, he’s Reserve, but does he  have to  have  to do all the other little things for  them, like ONI, or the SEALS, or this, or that.  Cheech! Can’t he refuse sometimes?

Well last night, he sure wasn’t on Navy time and I didn’t care that he felt bad that he’d spoiled our plans again. I'm afraid  lost it and threw the soufflé toward the wall. (It was ruined, a deflated blob, waiting for him.)

At least I’d thought I was aiming at the wall. He tried to sooth my ruffled ( and terrified)   feathers as blood streamed down his forehead, and told  me he was fine all the while I was crying, that it was ‘okay’. He ‘understood’ and it ‘was an accident’.

Ignoring the blood dripping on his eyelashes, he promised me he’d try; he’d really try, to keep more of his after hours open. Maybe bringing  some of the work home with him would help. (Yeah sure, my workaholic Captain)

‘That’s not the point!’ I sobbed as I dragged him down to the Med Center and stopped at the ER entrance.  But Lee took the admissions form out of my hand and  before I could say anything, told the desk he stumbled over the dog and fell headlong into the souffle' dish , and that  he was such a klutz.

He dared me to say anything to the contrary, so I didn't have to worry that they'd all say  I 'd proved ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’. I've already heard the jokes about him needing hazard pay having me as a nagging girlfriend. (Though I've never actually thrown anything at him before)

Even Morton's kidded him about his 'ball and chain' and when are we going to make it official, etc., etc.,  but so far Lee's still stuck in a non committal mode.

Sometimes I've almost marched right into Nelson’s office to tell him and all of his dept. heads  to keep their  paws off of Lee  after 5 pm , and on the weekends, or I wouldn't be responsible ! (But now, well, not a good idea I guess, as it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to put 2 and 2 together regarding  Lee's 'little accident'.) And what if I had subconsciously aimed the damn souffle at him? He has enough battle scars without me adding to them!

As soon as we got back to my apartment, he took me straight to bed, more to appease the anger and guilt I felt toward myself than at him, and he promised that he'd try; really he would, to insure we had more quality time together.

But  I’m not keeping my fingers crossed. And I'm not making another souffle' either.