This is the Sales Summit week at his job, and so he gets home late and exhausted every night. Which is cool with me, but I just realised now that I think I’ve seen him a grand total of three hours in four days. This must be what it’s like to be married to the President. Except that we have a yappy American Eskimo instead of Secret Service. And I’d take a bullet for that dog instead of letting him take a bullet for me.
And this may be the stupidest blog entry ever, but I’ve written a bunch of really heavy and ponderous stuff lately and wanted to have something on this page that was less The Meaning Of Life and more just online japery.
Besides I’ve got a couple of people who seem to just read my blog so they can find things to pick on me about behind my back. This way I’m teasing them with the thought of my marriage going down the tubes because of how much my husband is away. I imagine they’ll have fun talking about it.
Tomorrow I think I’ll make up an affair for myself with the crazy Russian neighbour who drives the white Serial Killer Van.