This weekend the hubs took our kids out of town to watch the Houston Astros play the Texas Rangers for the last time. Evidently that’s a big deal… Not to me, of course – but to a mass of other people, it is. With this in mind, I stayed home because I had work to do and frankly, I think my husband could sense I needed some quiet time. It’s not that I’ve been so incredibly stressed lately – sometimes it’s just nice to experience a little solitude. In addition to that, I haven’t spent the night by myself in my own house in nine years. If I have, I don’t remember it. So, needless to say, even though I felt guilty for sending them off, deep down, I was excited.
How did I utilize my time while all alone in this big empty house on 70 empty acres? Whatever the HELL I wanted to do, that’s what!
Every cliché imaginable, I acted out with relish.
Bubble bath? Check.
Walk through the house naked? Check.
Threesome with Ben & Jerry? Check.
Five hours of True Blood over a bottle of wine and a ridiculously big bowl of popcorn? Check, check, check.
I didn’t even wake up until 9:30 Sunday morning! I kept thinking to myself, Wow – this is really nice! That is until lunch came and went…and the afternoon came and went…and the sunset came and went. Nightfall hit and they still weren’t home. I was like, “What the hell is taking them so long?!” Once they finally showed up, I was hugging and kissing my family like they’d just come home from the battlefield. “I’m SO glad you’re home!”
Looks like 36-hours of solitude is about all I can take.