You see, my husband is in Vegas on a business trip (an oxymoron if ever there was one, no?), and I’M NOT THERE WITH HIM. I love Vegas, remember? And I hate when J has to travel.
First of all, I don’t sleep well when he’s not home. Sounds sweet, I know, but the reality of the situation is that my tossing and turning ultimately resulted in me totally oversleeping, and waking up just as my nanny was arriving. I greeted her, bleary-eyed, wild-haired and braless, and it is a true testament to her professionalism that she did not run shrieking from the apartment at the sight of me.
Another downside of J being away is that it completely brings out the crazy in me. With him gone, I get nervous in our apartment late at night (this situation certainly isn't helping any), and tend to do weird, nutbar things, like flinging back the shower curtain in one swift motion, to ensure that a crazy killer isn’t lurking in there. I perform a similar trick when hanging up my coat. Namely, sort of stabbing blindly into the coat closet with my hanger to presumably neutralize the aforementioned crazy killer. In my heart, I know it’s batshit insane, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it.
But you know, those aren't not even the WORST things I’ve done in his absence. No, that dubious honor is reserved for the downloading of melancholy songs too embarrassing to even divulge. I mean…God. One of the songs may or may not have been about a jet plane, and someone leaving on it.
Please save me from myself; I’m probably about two days away from singing show tunes in a muumuu.
(Also? The lady on the right is my new favorite person. Not only because she's so obviously elated about her muu muu, but also because she sort of looks like Bette Midler circa mid-80s, and, well, who better to sing show tunes with than her?)
(Good Lord. What's become of me? COME BACK, J!)