"But if we're acting all shy, It will make it okay…"-LCD Soundsystem

Working at home is tough. It limit's your outside contact. For me, I've come to live vicariously through MyWife's exploits. She's my world. Yeah, pathetic, but I need to move on. I need to be the self-contained Rob I used to be. It can't be that tough can it? Today I took baby steps. I took my car down to the dealership to get an alignment. I've brought along all kinds of survival goodies to make the wait less mind numbing. You know, the usual: shiny iPod, trashy book, bottled water, divorce papers. The usual.

It's been a while since I've been here; they've really updated the service diepartment. It's no longer the oily little corner with slaughtered Naga-beast sofas and a smattering of magazines, smelling of solvent. It's now this techno friendly Wi-Fi café, complete with booths, Aeron-knockoff chairs, and an espresso machine. It's even done up in cubicle gray to make work rat feel at home. Staring around me, I see it's worked. Rats fill every cubby, chattering away.

Build it and they will come…

There's the little old couple who looks out of place sitting in front of the RX-8 display. They're huddled together like refugees on a cargo ship. They don't belong, but there's safety in unity. I wouldn't cross them. Besides, they look strangely at peace in the world they exude, it's like ink spilling from a fountain pen; their color world bleeds into the cold room.

Across from them is a woman and her little girl. They've been here for a while, because the little girl is flitting about the room, eager to leave. Mom has her face on the table hair strewn about in a mat of abandon. Her hand is on table, inches from her cell phone, like the dead body in a horror movie. If only she'd had 2 more minutes of talk time…She's not wearing a ring. Seems I'm good at spotting that type of thing these days.

There are two business women chatting up a detailer. He's young enough to be their son, I'm old enough to be their younger brother. I'm kind of insulted they don't see me. I'm gonna have to learn how to do this again. Is it like riding a bike? I hope not, I couldn't do that until I was 8. Then again they told me I'd never do it. Maybe I can do this again, but now isn't the time to try. Besides, in this crowd I'd be setting myself up for failure. Better to start in a more friendly environment for me. Back to the park I go…

Grabbing a seat, I handle my priorities, and fumble with my wad of earphones. This is an intricate process, requiring reverse basket weaving skills I learned in college. Fifteen minutes later, I have glowing green straight strands of poly-coated wire. Unfortunately, they're useless. I forgot the stupid adapter; my iPod won't connect to my headphones.

Gasp!

I'm stuck with AC love songs piped into the service lobby, and I forgot my razor blade and lemon wedges.

Double gasp!

You can't hide Your lying eyes...

Re-wadding the phones, I shove them back into my pocket, then slip the divorce from the envelope. According to the first page, MyWife is the server. Hey! We're playing tennis! Too bad I suck at that too. Zero serving love.

Fault!

Quick, get MyWife a ballboy!

Sorry, I had to get it out of my system. I'm better now. I promise...

Anyway, I flip to page 2 of 42. Surprisingly, there's more legalese stating "I want out."

Something's missing. Not on the paper, something else. Holy crap! Where's my ring?

Scan the room:

No, the old couple isn't huddled around it for warmth.

Mom hasn't moved. Is she really dead?

The huntresses? Yeah right, what would they do with that?

Little girl? Oh No! Bright and shiny! Bright and shiny! She's playing with something she's found under her table. Well it looks more like something she's found attached to the bottom of the table. I think it's still attached. I don't want to know, it's not my ring. Good to know some things don't change in the service department.

My brain replays the day:

Got up-saw ring

Made coffee

Read email

Replied-saw ring

Showered

Dressed

Drove to dealer

Noticed missing ring

It's been gone all that time? Crap! I could have lost it anywhere. What if it fell down the drain in the shower? I know, she's leaving. Hell, she's been a hollow chocolate bunny wife

for quite some time. Still, this is me, and I've worn that ring since the day she put it on my hand. I've never taken it off and I'll continue to wear it until the judge renders my vows null and void.

If I can find it.

Dropped, the divorce papers slide across the table, spilling to the floor. I'll pick them up; first I have more urgent concerns.

I get up and start searching under the other tables and chairs. The old lady looks at me, "Are you okay?"

I mumble something about losing my wife's ring, but I think she misunderstood.

"You won't find her under there dear."

The little girl offers me a piece of her find, I smile, shake my head, and scoot back carefully.

Nope. Not on the floor. I search through my pockets. Nothing there but keys and wadded wire.

Wadded wire...

Clutching the balled mess in my hand, I pull it out like a five-year-old fishing for a cereal prize. Thank God! There amidst the worthless tangle is my wedding band. I slide it back on my finger and organize my divorce paperwork before the girl sees it. Somebody should call a paramedic for her mom.

I go back to my paper work Says here I'm the respondent. That's interesting, I've felt kind of dead lately—

"Mr. Blogwriter, your car's ready."

"Thanks." Everybody glares at me as I get up to go. Even the car detailer's eyes scream "send help." Mom's fingertips claw the table. Twice.

So this is the outside world? Looks like I'm gonna have to get used to this place again. I ruffle the little girls hair as I pass and smile. We both have a long way to go.