My wife--the bustle beast.

We're back from our trip. This is what happened yesterday morning:


Linda is up and dressed and packed by 7:00 in the morning.

"Quit bustling about, please," I groan, upon opening my eyes.

"I'm not bustling," she says.

Ten minutes later, she zips up her suitcase and stares at me. "No hurry."

I lift my coffee cup and hide behind it.

She continues to buzz around the bed as I browse the internet. She coughs discretely.

"Take your time," she says again.

8:30. The pressure steadily mounts. She writes in her journal for awhile, then closes it and looks over at me. I refuse to meet her eyes until I've finished my second cup of coffee.

8:45. Her Jedi mind power starts levitating my bed. I ignore it. She paces the room, pretends not to pace the room. Looks over at me while pretending not to look over at me. Brushes her teeth the second time this morning.

"Not true," she says..."it's only your perception."

I put pillow over my head and hear her snort loudly. She starts looking toward the door as if contemplating going somewhere.

"I like to be ready so I don't have to hurry and rush stuff," she says.

"It's 8:45," I say. "Checkout is 11:00. We have nowhere we need to be."

She starts packing up everything not already nailed down, making sure to close the doors loudly.

She finally admits she's bustling. "What's wrong with bustling?" she says, as she zips around the room. She starts cleaning the sink and wiping the counters.

"Uh, did you already pack the creamer?"

"Sorry."

I get up to take shower. "Uh...I need the shampoo and soap, please."

"Oh....sorry."

I come out of the shower. She's standing in the middle of the room. She's not tapping her foot, but she might as well be.

"I'm up, I'm up already..." I mutter. It's 9:00. After two hours of intense pressure. I'm beginning to crack. I try to bustle, but nothing happens. I start to desultorily pack my bags. It's too much, I lay back on the bed and try to ignore the fact that my wife is starting to make the hotel beds.

"I'm putting your bathrobe in this bag since it doesn't fit your suitcase,"she says.

"Oh, my God. Are you packing MY suitcase?"

"Noooo......" she says, stepping back guiltily. She bustles about, even though everything is packed. I have no idea what she's doing.

9:20. She leaves to get car and round up bellhop. The room is finally quiet and peaceful. I fight the urge to go back to bed. My ordeal will soon be over.