Skylar has been traveling for work a lot lately. Either that, or he's doing affairs.

I've stated this before and I'll state it again for official government records: I don't care if Skylar has clandestine affairs as long as they are with someone who is exceptionally rich and as long as he gets a good story out of it. He is not, however, allowed to cheat on me with anyone who is funny. I have insecurities to uphold!

When I first began dating this man in Year of Our Lord Cher two thousand and mumbledy goop, one of the first things I learned about him was that he has a different relationship with Time than anyone else I've ever met, and certainly different than me.

You see, when I have any event on the calendar less than three weeks away, I prepare for it by sitting atop a chair in my dimly lit living room with excellent posture, staring straight ahead, and not speaking to anyone for nearly the entirety of that waiting period. Then I get in my car and arrive to said event 9 to 14 hours before it begins and I wait in my car until I'm fashionably early.

Skylar does not live his life this way.

I have seen this man attempt to squeeze in an errand when we are already late on our way to a very important event. Our wedding. The important event was our wedding. He wondered if we had time to stop for tea. On our way to our wedding. Which we were already running late to.

For the most part I have learned to Let Go and Let God because God has a better therapist than I do and is more equipped to handle the stress and anxiety of watching this criminal style of living.

Yes, if Skylar wants to navigate this life like a squirrel who has just discovered coffee and hobbies, that is his prerogative. In those moments, we are divorced and I have full custody of the children and an excellent alimony deal I'm still waiting for him to start paying.

Howeverthenotwithstanding, there are circumstances where even God passes the ball back to me. Yes, even God has her limits.

The primary example of this is whereupon this man flies on an aeroplane through the aero from an aeroport.

Twas not three weeks ago that I glanced upon my telephone to review the time when I realized that Skylar had a flight that would be leaving in one hour and twenty five American man-made minutes.

"Oh?" you ask. "Had he made it through security yet? Was he at the gate or did he stop to buy a neck pillow to wear through the airport like a white bald man who reports his neighbors' landscaping failures to the HOA?"

Reader, this man was not at the airport at all. Not at all. Not Atall!

No sir or ma'am or lamb!

He was perched upon a garden bed in our backyard planting tomatoes despite a then-known seven-day forecast that included much snow!

Not only was this man gardening like Martha Stewart if she forgot how to garden, he hadn't even begun packing yet.

Not packed!

Not even started!

For a week. long. TRIP!

ONE HOUR AND TWENTY. FIVE. MINUTOS!

Now you may be wondering if I then summoned my spousal nagging superpowers to take control of this situation. I did not, for I have learned that in this particular instance of marital strife, the nagging does not help. This isn't my first rodeo that starts in just over an hour and Skylar has decided to throw an entire frozen turkey into the oven.

The nagging only creates a conversation where he says things that are technically true but spiritually a lie. Like, "this is always how I travel and I never miss a flight."

By the time Skylar entered our home of holy matrimony, there was just over an hour remaining before departure.

"Oh gooooood!" thought I! "He will begin packing for this WEEK. LONG. TRIIIPPP.

How foolish was this writer to attempt to predict the actions of a chaos agent with great eyebrows and an ass that will not quit!

Instead of packing, or even retrieving a suitcase, Skylar decided to calmly read aloud for me the backs of the packets of seeds he was about to BEGIN planting in our indoor planter, as if I could not read them maselfff.

At this point I realized the only way I was going to get through this was to go outside. The less I knew the better.

A suspicious number of minutes later, Skylar exited the home with a suitcase in hand and announced he was ready for me to take him to the airport. The one with TSA and planes.

It was now 50 minutes until departure. Fifty. One two three carry the one FIFTY.

I threw our human child into his car seat and became the first physical matter to travel at the speed of light driving to the airport. When we arrived it was 40 minutes until departure. Skylar's flight was actively boarding. At this large international airport in our state's biggest city.

Skylar turned to begin a relief society goodbye to our dear child. No sense of urgency. I'm not sure he's ever even met urgency. I'm sure if he did they'd just agree to disagree and manage to be friends despite their differences.

It was during the second minute of the goodbye kissalogue that I finally broke.

"Aren't you worried about making your flight?!"

Skylar looked at me, his head tilted, and said in a tone that was so casual it wears flipflops to court, "my flight is more than half an hour away. I'm probably not even checking a bag."

"YOU PROBABLY ARE NOT IN FACT CHECKING A BAG!" I yelled so loudly it interfered with flight equipment on nine planes.

Skylar gave me a look of pity and a kiss of dismissal before retrieving his suitcase to make a slow entrance into the airport.

He texted me less than five minutes later.

"Got through security and just reaching my gate. We got here too early."

Why don't bad things ever happen to good people?

~It Just Gets Stranger