The Agent Gets a Little Crazy

(If you came here looking for a meme I used to do on my old blog, I’ll be posting it on Monday under a slightly different name)

So, The Agent had been away on a mission all week, and just came home.  This was actually the best week for him to be away, because it allowed me the extra time to play with the new blog and comment on other people’s blogs and whatnot. The Agent supports my desire to blog, because he knows that’s how I release some of my frustrations about life. That said, he doesn’t love that I’m on the internet all the time, so it’s easier to do when he’s not around.

The problem with The Agent being gone for a full week is that he has nothing to do at night but lay in bed and think and overanalyze things. I’ve mentioned before that I lack a lot of self confidence, and it’s something that I’m working on gaining. The Agent suffers from the same lack of self esteem.

So, The Agent came home and went a little crazy on me. He asked if I had ever had any “indiscretions” during the course of our relationship. No. Had I ever kissed anyone? No. Had I ever been kissed? No.

I try to be patient with him during these journeys through Crazytown, but it’s hard.

“Honey,” I said, trying to be helpful, “Is this about the blog? Do you want to read it? There's nothing in it that you don't already know, read all you want.  Or maybe you're worried about the weight I’m losing? I still weigh 3 pounds more than I did when I met you, and then I want to lose like 10 pounds  after that. I promise you, I will never be scrawny skinny.”

The Agent said it was neither of these things. Then he asked, “What’s going on with you and John?”

I had to struggle in my brain to figure out who he was talking about. John is a common name, I know several Johns. I’m not sleeping with any of them.

It turns out that the John in this particular scenario is a guy that I work with. Our cubicles used to be next to each other, but we hadn‘t sat near each other for at least three years. Apparently, The Agent had read a text on my phone from John to me that said “Wish me luck.” Not yesterday, not last week, not even last month.

Five. Years. Ago. And this is the first time he's ever brought it up.

Obviously, I do  not remember this text. I don’t  even remember having his number. I don’t have it now. The only thing I can think of is that we probably exchanged numbers when we sat together, so if someone was going to be late or calling in sick or whatever, we would let the other know. The “wish me luck” could have meant one of several things: I’m going to the dentist, wish me luck. I have jury duty, wish me luck. It most likely did not mean, “I’m going to try to get you to cheat on your husband, wish me luck!”

So, as calmly as I could, I tried to bring The Agent back to reality. I’m in love with you. I am married to you. Please, no more of this crazy talk.

The Agent agreed, we… ahem…. made up, and there was no more discussion after that.

My girlfriends are amazed that I am not upset  with The Agent. “Lovely, he’s getting mad over something that happened FIVE YEARS AGO! And you didn’t even do anything wrong! How come you weren’t throwing stuff at him?”

Eh. Is it his fault he’s crazy?