Waiting {im}patiently

Way back when, I got a haircut in a shorter amount of time than it took the McHusband (then just a McBoyfriend) to, um, go to the bathroom. We were out and about running some errands, and I decided to pop into a Hair Cuttery or somewhere similar to get a quick trim. The McHusband finished up at a different store then came in just after I'd sat in the stylist's chair. He asked to use the restroom and the stylist pointed him in the right direction. She goes about her business, cutting off my split ends, and as she's finishing up, she asks, "Is your friend okay?"

I can't blame her for being worried. I mean, it was pretty odd for someone (not for the McHusband though) to be in the bathroom that long. I told her "He's fine" and just left it at that. She didn't need me to explain that he ALWAYS takes a while.

What's the point of this story? Tucker camped out outside the powder room this past weekend, waiting on the McHusband to finish his business. I think he got tired of milling about near the bathroom and finally settled in for the long haul.





















"I know he's in there."
















"Unless he sneaked past me when I wasn't looking."





















"I may have dozed off for just a minute."