Women are from Venus. Men are from Mars. Or Jupiter. Or another Galaxy altogether.
Last week, play rehearsals conflicted with Parent Night at my daughter's school. Since I've been to every Parent Night this school year, and my husband has been to like--two--he agreed to go in my place. The plan was, he'd take the two girls and leave them at the school's daycare during the meeting. My son is too young, so Brian would ask his dad if he'd watch him (since his mother was out of town). Perfect! Goodbye frazzled, SuperMom; Hello suave, trendy Playwright. It was a foolproof plan. Except for one thing. Yep, you guessed it. Men are from Mars. Or Jupiter ... well, you get the drift.
On the day of rehearsals, I called him at work to see if everything was confirmed with his dad. "He can't watch Quinn because he's going to the same meeting," Brian informed me. What in Jumping Jupiter was he talking about?
"To Parent Night?"
"No, to the blah, blah, blah business meeting."
"Business meeting?" We've been talking about two different meetings the ENTIRE WEEK? "You were supposed to go to Parent Night."
"I told you that I had to go to this meeting for my clients." No, he did not. He left out this very important fact. "They're paying me $200 an hour to attend this meeting."
Yes, but I ... I've got this play. And they're paying me ... okay ... nothing. But, hey, how often do I have a play in the works?
Goodbye suave, trendy Playwright; Hello, frazzled SuperMom. A million phone calls later, I had babysitting, went to play rehearsals, banished my husband to the nether regions of Pluto, and even made it to my daughter's school.
So, All's well that Ended well on the planet of Venus.