Hmm, Where is that Husband of Mine?

My husband is Arab.  He’s Egyptian, to be precise.  He has many good characteristics, but being on time is not one of them.  Over the years he has eaten many meals that were old and cold because he told he he’d be home for dinner at early o’clock and then he actually arrived at half past wife ticked off.  Even calling him to remind him doesn’t always work.  I’m sure many of my friends who are married to Arab guys can sympathize.  “I’m five minutes from home” means he is halfway across town.  “I’m in the car right now” means he’s sitting in a restaurant with five of his buddies smoking shisha.  And “I didn’t forget to stop at the store to buy diapers” means “Oh, crap, I forgot to stop at the store to buy diapers”.  I have dealt with the missed meals and lost grocery lists.  Lately though, I’ve had a new ally that helps me to get dinner on the table just as hubby is pulling into the driveway.  It’s called the “find iPhone” app.

We became a two iPhone family when I started taking a more active part in the purchase part of our online auction business.  When you’re out scouting secondhand stores and auctions for merchandise, having a phone that can surf the net and compare prices can save you from buying a piece of junk.  Well, actually, it can save you from buying a worthless piece of junk; selling junk is a large part of our online success.  “One man’s trash…” and all that.  Anyway, we now have two iPhones and they have been useful for work, but for me even more useful for ensuring domestic bliss.  Now, instead of calling the hubmeister and playing twenty questions to find out where he actually is, I just open the app and see precisely where he and his phone are pinging from.  If he tells me he has one more stop and he’ll be home shortly, I can see that he is actually way up north and it will take him at least forty-five minutes to make it home.  It’s not that he intentionally tells me the wrong thing; it’s just that he has a terrible sense of time and distance.  Like, even though he knows it takes a minimum of twelve and a half minutes to get to the mosque to pray, he routinely leaves himself only about ten minutes.  And he wonders why I’m stressed out whenever we’re going anywhere.  I, being a mom, build in an extra half hour of heavy traffic time, Zaid pooped time, and I forgot my favorite hat time.  So, anyway, now I’m happy to have another tool to help me look like a really super-efficient wife.  Just don’t tell him my secret.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my husband has just walked in the door as I expected.  Time to ladle out a nice bowl of split-pea soup to take the edge off a chilly Virginia day.

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