"Duuuuude," I said, using my creative pet name for my dear husband. "Duuuude," I repeated, "if Tiffany called and said "I have a free ticket to Korea. And she wasn't actually in Korea but in California or TX or something, I wouldn't have asked you. All that would be left of me would be a cloud of smoke and some hair pins like in those Looney Toon Cartoons. Go."
Later the discussion continued.
"Go, really. I'm okay. Go have fun. Pretend you're a bachelor again." I paused, swung my head around at him and poked at the air between us with my eyes narrowed with menace. "But not too bachelor-y!"
I convinced him to go and only now, in this large house, in the basement when I'm cold, damp and alone - I ponder the rationality of my decision.
And as the weekend looms before me, lacking of any 8am-5pm workdays and mocking me with its endless possibilities I can feel white hairs springing up from my hairline as I truly freak out.
But only a little.
I can see tons of things around the house that NEED to be done - but do I want to do any of it?
Maybe I'll pretend to tour my hometown as a tourist.
Anyone game on meeting me at Pullman Square and try on every pair of shoes in "Heels" and then popping over to the Latta toy store to molest the stuffed lion display?
Anyone willing to drive down Fifth Avenue and moon the frat houses?
To order only a water and nachos at Max and Erma's?
To see a movie and sit in the very front row, eyesight be damned?
Check out the old scary cemetery in Barboursville and make up fun love-triangles between the dead-and-gones buried six feet (or so) under?