The Earring

Book 2 Part 1

I stood in the concession room and sprayed a fire extinguisher at the bottom of the door. The chemical curling under the door gave the appearance of smoke. A sociology student ran noisily down the hall and burst into the office while the principal was making his noon announcements, hollering, "The lunchroom is on fire!" Simultaneously, another student pulled the fire alarm.

Students and teachers streamed out of their classrooms, pouring onto the playground in an excited river. Sociology students stationed throughout the school recorded reactions to the nearest thing to mass hysteria we could create. They were surprised to find that some students took the opportunity to snatch lunches or unprotected valuables. Budding young entrepreneurs offered to sell hoarded treats at inflated prices. Some, though, offered to share with the less fortunate. Siblings frantically searched for younger brothers and sisters. Some students looked anxiously for favorite teachers, while others stealthily whispered that they hoped old Ms. Thompson was trapped in the lunchroom.

That evening I went home, eager to share my adventures with David. I fixed a nice meal and decorated the dining room table. At 5:30 everything was ready, but no David. At 6pm I lit the candles, certain he would soon come through the door. At 7pm I ate a cold dinner. At 8pm, I put the rest of supper in the fridge.

When David came through the door at 9pm, the candles were puddles of cooling wax. I was sitting in the dark seething.

"What are you doing in the dark?" he asked cheerily as he flipped on the lights.

"Nothing," I said. "What were you doing out there in the dark?"

"I got off early. Daniel and I decided to take in 9 holes before sundown. Then some guys invited us to play tag football in the dark. We had florescent flags and a florescent ball. It was really cool."

As he stopped for breath, he finally noticed the remnants of my once festive meal.

"Aw, Syd," he said. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to make us a fancy meal?"

"And how was I supposed to do that? I'm not telepathic. I suppose it never occurred to you to phone home – let the little woman know that you were going to be late?"

"I'm sorry, Syd. I didn't think. I'll do better."

"One can only hope," I said with resignation.

"What was the big occasion, anyway?"

"Nothing. I just thought it might be nice to spend a romantic evening together."

#

A Man's Lesson from ET

BY SYDNEY LANDER

Men can learn something from ET: Phone home!

When a woman makes plans with her friends, her husband expects her to let him know when he can anticipate her return. If she is going to be out later than planned on an excursion, he requires her to phone and apprise him of the time she will arrive home.

She is also to leave a number where he can reach her in case he needs to ask her something important, like what to do if Josh says he has a bellyache when bedtime is announced or how long to microwave a plate of leftovers.

In this age of cell phones, she is instructed to answer her phone if he calls, but she can ignore any other calls if she pleases. Even if she considers the reason for his first call a "no-brainer," she is to answer all subsequent calls from him because any reason he has for calling should be considered important enough to interrupt her activity.

When a man has similar plans, he feels no compunction to phone his wife. If he agrees to leave a number where he can be reached, she is to reserve it for emergencies – like the house burning down. In the event of such a calamity, she is only to call near the time he would normally return home so he will know where he will be sleeping, since his usual bed is unavailable.

This rule also applies to cell phones. If she calls his cell phone for something other than what he defines as an emergency, he can then ignore any subsequent calls from her under the assumption that they are frivolous and undeserving of his attention.

If he's out late with the guys and he excuses himself to call home, the others rib him about being tied to the apron strings or wearing a ball and chain. They tell him he is not acting like a 'real man.'

My husband seemingly adheres to 'real man' telephone etiquette. David recently went to an out of town pastor's meeting with his associate. All he told me was that he would be gone for the day and that he was leaving around 8 a.m. Since those meetings usually adjourn after a hearty preacherman lunch, I assumed he would be home by 4 p.m., but I stretched that to 6 pm in case they decided to stop at a tool show or bookstore on their way home.

When 7 p.m. had come and gone, I began to wonder if something had happened. I tried calling his cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail. I waited about 30-minutes and tried calling again, with the same outcome.

By 8 p.m. my unease had increased to worry. I began to imagine his car in a ditch with two injured occupants. I tried to remember if David had our home phone number on his person so the EMTs would know whom to call if he was unconscious.

By 8:30 p.m. I was desperate to take my mind off the possible scenarios. I located our life insurance policy. I checked on the Internet to see what the average cost of a funeral is and began to fanaticize about what I would do with the remaining money.

By 9:30 p.m. I was no longer able to distract myself. I considered calling the wife of the other pastor who had gone with David but did not want to give her heart failure, in case she too was imagining a call from emergency personnel.

Just as I started calling area hospitals, David walked through the door.

"Where have you been and why haven't you been answering your cell phone?" I demanded.

At that, he hastily exited, calling, "Hey, Jerry, hold up."

No, he was not leaving to allow me time to cool down. He was simply retrieving the cell phone he had turned off while he was out of range and forgot to turn back on.

David claims he thought he told me he wouldn't be home until 10 p.m. For all of you men out there with similar defective memories, take a lesson from ET and phone home. It is never the wrong thing to do, and it may save someone a lot of grief, like spending a cold night in the doghouse.