Leaving an Aspie at home

The day before I flew to Boulder - which is where I am now - Dave and I had the conversation we always have before I leave the country. (For strangers to this blog, Dave and I have been married for 48 years.)

Dave: If I die while you're at Isaac's, you mustn't think of cutting short your holiday and coming home. You must stay there. There would be nothing to come home to - just a cadaver, which will go in the fridge. Though I don't know why they would bother when it's going to be burned anyway.

Me: You're crazy. Do we have to go through this again?

Dave: It's important. I don't want your trip to be spoiled if I die. There really is no reason. 

Me: I will do what I think, Dave. You'll be dead. It'll be up to me. 
(Thinks: there is absolutely no point in trying to explain AGAIN how upset I'll be.)

Dave: But I don't want you to come home before you need to.

Me: Fine, fine. Now, can we talk about something else?


The next day when I was waiting at Heathrow for my flight to Denver, we had a chat on the phone.

Me: What have you been doing? Been out for a bike ride?

Dave: No. I've been cutting up that wood and stacking it.

Me: Great. Which woodstore did you put it in? Was there room for it?

Dave: It's in the wheelbarrow in the sitting room.