My husband went back to work this week -- thank heavens -- because retirement doesn't suit him.
He accepted a generous incentive to retire and left his old job at the end of June. The first two weeks, he was in and out of my home office a dozen times a day. I knew he was bored, but I hoped he'd get over it.
He said he was going to take over mowing the lawn. I told the lawn service to skip a week or two. When the dog started getting lost in the grass, I asked them to please come back right away.
He bought new golf shoes and some extra special golf balls and headed out to the driving range. But the range was hot, and mostly deserted midweek.
He told me that he thought I should retire, so I could learn to play golf.
I love my husband, so I actually thought about selling my little business and retiring. I even found a buyer. Then I slept on it. What was I going to do all day? I've taken golf lessons before. I'm a miserable golfer. I spend all my time looking for my ball in the weeds. I'd rather sit in front of my computer and work.
We took a vacation -- three weeks. It's the longest we've ever been away in our whole married life. I was excited about it. Sometime in the middle of the third week, something bit us. He was convinced it was bed bugs. We came home. I washed everything and threw the suitcases away.
He grew a beard and gained five pounds and obsessed over both of them. We ate soup for a month -- until he lost the pounds and shaved off most of the beard.
The dog barking at the two little yappy mutts down the street started to irritate him. He wanted me to ask the vet for tranquilizers -- for the dog. I ignored him.
Just as I was about to pack up and go to my sister's in Virginia for a nice, long visit, the phone rang. It was his old boss. They have a big project and need his help. Would he consider coming in for a few weeks?
He's back at work today. I'm at my desk. The dog is quiet. All's right with the world.
So much for retirement planning.