On the day before our trip to Greece, the day on which crazy cleaning and last minute packing happened, The Husband went out to get a haircut and I somehow found the time to get out of the house and get my hands on a copy of Harry Potter and The Cursed Child. He got a good haircut and I got my book at half-price which was great considering how upset I was when Amazon refused to deliver it before the day of our departure. It was a good day. And as is customary, The Husband got into the shower the minute we got home and I got around to doing the last minute packing that we had to do. That's when he called out to me from the shower. I wondered what the emergency was and rushed to his aid. "I don't like this song. Can you change it for me?", he asked. Exasperated, I reached for his phone which was perched on a shelf in the bathroom. I rolled my eyes while selecting his playlist for him and got right back to the business of packing in panic-mode. But within 2 minutes, I heard a distinct "FUUUUUUUU......CK" from the bathroom, followed by a loud thud on the sliding door of the shower. I was convinced that he'd slipped and injured himself in the shower so I ran to his rescue. Rescue how? No clue. But run, I did.
The scene that welcomed me was a dripping husband outside the shower, holding a very wet phone. It took a few seconds to absorb what had happened. You see, the shelf that he'd placed his phone on, the shelf that I'd reached for when he asked me to change the music, the shelf that I'd returned his phone to while stretching my tiny limbs as much as I could, was directly above the commode. And as luck would have it, the phone dropped right into it. Let me spell that out for you. The phone dropped into the toilet and he picked it up with his bare hands as soon as he could. But the damage may have been already done.
My first instinct was to blame him for placing his phone on that very shelf when other shelves were available, hence making me unthinkingly replace it on that very shelf with my tiny hands, thus making the phone drop seven feet and straight into the commode. But I heard myself the minute I said it. I was being stupid and unreasonable. This was clearly my fault. I done fucked up.
But the phone seemed to be working just fine when he got out of the shower and we were sitting in our bedroom getting some last minute things together when he grabbed it and immediately put it back. It was as hot as the concrete footpaths along the port of Heraklion at noon. His phone was burning hot. And genius Ankita decided that it would be a great idea to try and charge it. I really don't know why I thought that made sense. So yeah, I was first responsible for dropping the phone into the toilet but now I was also responsible for frying it.
Guilt is an overpowering emotion and I can't even begin to put to words how guilty I feel about destroying his phone. I went moping about for a while, trying to overcompensate for what I'd done by getting him extra glasses of rose milk. But the only reaction I got from him (apart from a very disappointed expression on his face) was "It's okay. Shit happens". And the emotion I felt when I heard those words was a thousand times more overpowering than guilt. I grew up in a household where not many things were uncomplicated. Where one never escaped consequences. So you can imagine what this kind of kindness does to my heart. It breaks it just a little bit. Oh, how I love this man!
But in other good news, because he doesn't have a phone on him, he doesn't check his e-mail or the news and is truly enjoying every minute of our holiday. Moreover, this has been the only "incident" so far and I hope to God it remains that way. We're leaving for dinner now, and on a road-trip this weekend, and the hope is that I will get to update this website on the go.
Until then, be compassionate. People will love you for it :)