My husband and I probably spend more time separately than together at our “lakeside cabin”

(really a shack in the woods about half a mile from an overgrown pond). Like when Cal announced he was taking one of his “big fishing trips,” this one a two-weeker, I had a good idea he’d be shacking up with some floozy and I’d be alone in the cabin.

That Friday, the day before Cal was supposed to leave, the minute I got home from work I threw my stuff in the car, wished him “happy fishing” and hit the road. Even with a stop for groceries, when I pulled up to the cabin there was still some daylight, and I just sat a bit enjoying the solitude. At last I opened the car door. I all but jumped out of my shorts when a man said, “Can I help with anything?”