“Running errands. Be back in an hour,” I told her.
Nearly a decade of marriage had taught me one thing: sixty minutes was the sweet spot. Any longer, she’d be suspicious. Any shorter, she’d be even more suspicious.
The kids I ignored outright. I’d been indulging the little mouth breathers all summer. Daddy’s earned a little “me” time.
And before I knew it, I had some. I was blessedly alone, paddling leisurely towards the middle of the lake.
But what should’ve been a relaxing row suddenly wasn’t. Who would’ve thought my antique wooden canoe wasn’t seaworthy?
Everyone except me apparently…
The Weekday One Hundred 