So I was up last night until 4:30am, how about you?
Hubba-hubba has been in the field of law enforcement for a long time. I should clarify that he is not a police officer, although he does have powers of arrest. He is considered a civilian member of the police department, although he does almost everything they do, except without a gun. He has a unit, he has flashing lights, he has a police radio strapped on to his shoulder, and he's got a bulletproof vest and a badge. Although I think his strongest weapon for self-protection is pepper spray, which doesn't really comfort me all that much.
This has not deterred him, however, from chasing carjackers on foot, apprehending graffiti "artists," taking down bar fighters, catching burglars in the act, and the list goes on. When he was on day shift, he taught an anti-drug class, similar to DARE, at the elementary schools in his city. He is often the first responder to accidents, getting there even before the police officers or firefighters. He has also won numerous awards for bravery and courage in the field. That's my guy! And even though he is branded a civilian, I know darn well that my husband will be in the thick of anything that happens. That is just his nature.
When Mr. Personality awoke at 12:30 or so last night and Hubba-hubba wasn't home, I didn't think too much of it, since he had told me he was planning on working out after his shift. Mr. Personality woke up, inexplicably, at around 2:30 and still no Hubba-hubba. Now I start to worry. Usually, I try to keep what he does during his job out of my mind, because if I start thinking too hard about it, I will be a wreck. I just send him off on his way, and try not to imagine what is going on. I try to live by "ignorance is bliss" when it comes to what he encounters on duty. He does actually tell me quite a bit of what goes on, and it would make your hair curl if it was straight and straight if it was curly.
Mr. P falls back asleep, and I of course, am wide awake. 3am rolls around. 3:30, and still nothing. I cannot describe to you the manner in which my intestines began to writhe around in my stomach at this point. Of course when you are tired and it is an obscene hour of the morning, your mind begins to travel to ugly and frightening places. Was he strewn across the freeway? Had he gotten shot? If so, wouldn't work call me as soon as it happened? Did he take it in his head to go jogging after his shift and gotten mugged and was right this second lying in a ditch somewhere bleeding to death? Just the other day he had told me that crime just seemed to be exploding in his city to a level higher than any in the nine years he has been there. My mind raced, and I started to cry, thinking I was going to be a single mother, and oh my god, the life insurance policy wasn't nearly enough and....
Somehow I wrested control of my brain from those incomprehensible thoughts and tried to think of a plan of action. Which is difficult to do well at that time of the morning, but I tried, dammit. Should I call some hospitals? Should I call dispatch at his job to make sure he had gotten off his shift on time? Should I go on the computer to see if there were any major accidents on the freeways he takes home? I finally decided that if he wasn't home by 4am, I was going to call dispatch, no matter how desperate or embarassing it was.
4am, no Hubba-hubba.
So I call, and quickly find out that he has been held over in containing a crime scene in an officer-involved shooting. I am relieved more than I can possibly convey, I think my whole body dropped about two inches from the easing of the tension. Then I hung up and thought, bastard, how could he not call me and tell me what is going on? And as quickly as that, all that self-imposed sorrow and stress turned to self-imposed anger.
Luckily for him, he didn't get home until about 6:30am, when I was fast asleep.
And even though I calmly told him when he woke up that he could not ever do something like that again to me, I'm still mad.
But he's so cute, it's hard to hold a grudge.