One in the Hole

In the fifth year of our marriage, my husband and I started trying for a baby.

I had just propped a pillow under my hips, adjusting my position, when his phone rang.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled away and started getting dressed. “A friend invited me out for a round of golf. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

This was the 99th time our attempts had been interrupted. I looked at him and, to my own surprise, spoke.

“Leo, let’s get a divorce.”

The motion of strapping on his watch paused for a fraction of a second. He laughed. “You want to divorce me because I’m going to play golf?”