When The Cat's Away - Day 4: An Affair To Remember
Oh, the shame I feel! The guilt! I have reached a new moral and emotional low whilst my husband is out of town, returning for another dangerous but sinfully delicious tryst with not one, not two, but three men: Ben, Jerry . . . and Ronald McDonald.
I swear that Ronald's not my fault. Like a good mother, I'd taken Mr. C on an outing today. Ever struggling to be the proper wife, I stopped first at the bookstore to look for a present for Bee. Mr. C was so good while I browsed that I promised to take him to the mall's play area afterwards. And he was so good at the play area that we stayed too long, missing lunch, and then he sweetly complained that he was "hungwy", and then I took him to the Food Court for a snack, and this is what we ended up having. For lunch.
I feel so degraded, but I couldn't stop myself! And, by the way, neither could Mr. C; though he apparently doesn't feel the shame I do.
No longer hungry, but not nearly satiated, I began fantasizing about my other two men on the drive home. Once again, I blame Mr. C; for when I asked him if he wanted to go straight home or stop at Walmart, he chose to stop at Walmart. And just look at what happened:
I swear I didn't want to; I really didn't! But Ben and Jerry called to me, seducing me with their boldness and exoticism. Bee would never consent to a manage-a-trois with these particular two incarnations, so -- reckless with my week's freedom and lonely for company -- I gave in.
Yes, I may be writhing with guilt, but -- for tonight only -- I am not a disheveled mom or a repressed housewife, but a woman of my own choosing! And I choose them!
With an intuition that I'd need redemption, however, I did plan ahead and got a homemade meal going in the crock pot before we left on our outing:
And while it may look like dog food, and while it did sort of freak me out calling for an entire cup of ketchup, the stew really wasn't all that bad.
To assuage my guilt, I also feverishly worked through Mr. C's nap time to finish the bathroom:
And here's another shot to prove the ledge is actually higher:
And, OK, the tile's not exactly evenly-spaced because I couldn't find our tile spacers; and, OK, the new white grout is a little uneven, too . . . but I swear it's an improvement!
I must admit, though, how odd it is that the more practice I have at tiling, the worse I seem to get.
I'm not going to point out the remodel to Bee: I'm curious to see how long it takes him to notice it.
And now, physically exhausted from caulking and cooking and emotionally empty from my numerous affairs, I am going to slink to my room for a little reading before bed.
Oh, and in case you were wondering? The Barbarian king's virgin slave? She consented.
Golly, that was a shocker.
I swear that Ronald's not my fault. Like a good mother, I'd taken Mr. C on an outing today. Ever struggling to be the proper wife, I stopped first at the bookstore to look for a present for Bee. Mr. C was so good while I browsed that I promised to take him to the mall's play area afterwards. And he was so good at the play area that we stayed too long, missing lunch, and then he sweetly complained that he was "hungwy", and then I took him to the Food Court for a snack, and this is what we ended up having. For lunch.
No longer hungry, but not nearly satiated, I began fantasizing about my other two men on the drive home. Once again, I blame Mr. C; for when I asked him if he wanted to go straight home or stop at Walmart, he chose to stop at Walmart. And just look at what happened:
 |
| Would Freud have a field day psychoanalyzing THAT? |
Yes, I may be writhing with guilt, but -- for tonight only -- I am not a disheveled mom or a repressed housewife, but a woman of my own choosing! And I choose them!
With an intuition that I'd need redemption, however, I did plan ahead and got a homemade meal going in the crock pot before we left on our outing:
 |
| Meatball Stew |
To assuage my guilt, I also feverishly worked through Mr. C's nap time to finish the bathroom:
I must admit, though, how odd it is that the more practice I have at tiling, the worse I seem to get.
I'm not going to point out the remodel to Bee: I'm curious to see how long it takes him to notice it.
And now, physically exhausted from caulking and cooking and emotionally empty from my numerous affairs, I am going to slink to my room for a little reading before bed.
Oh, and in case you were wondering? The Barbarian king's virgin slave? She consented.
Golly, that was a shocker.
Comments
Post a Comment