OMFG II...
This is how husbands get in trouble.
How nice not to be one anymore...
I checked the calendar before hitting the hay last night [in my wide, lonely bed--it's the end of the marking period and snoring has become a federal crime] and The Night was actually October 14th, not the 11th. I can track it not only because I unwittingly corresponded with the RBF about attending, and still have the messages in my account to look at, but because it was a Saturday.
What a relief. This way, I get three days warning from the entire gay community that I have to start thinking about winding the Goat up to get sentimental. It's OK this year and maybe next, but soon enough it will fall NOW, i.e., on a weekend when the Goat feels he doesn't have time to breathe, let alone share oxygen [let alone spit] with anyone else.
Those of you who have been following these ramblings for a while will hardly be surprised by the degree of cluelessness thus exhibited. A good month after moving, I am still surrounded by unpacked boxes, books with no shelves to go on, and un-surrounded by whatever I really want, like my coffeepot.
In the course of the last couple of days, I have managed to misplace the one of my tape-measures I'd been able to find, my flashlight, and my cell-phone. (I need the flashlight because most of my things are stored in a long, narrow closet with no window and no light...) After wasting the better part of a day looking for them in the same places over and over again [and frantically calling the cell-phone from the phone in any recently visited space I could think of, in hopes of hearing it ring], I came across the flashlight in plain sight right where I had left it, found the other tape-measure in the armrest between the front seats of the car, and, after lamenting the loss of my phone to the Goat from car to car when we rendez-voused, got out of the car and promptly saw it on the seat, right where my wide-body butt had been. I am still down one tape-measure, but who's counting?
You know what I love about the Goat? He's quite happy to call himself a dizzy airhead, but he never takes the opportunity to point out the similarity to me, when occasion arises. Now that's love, or if it isn't, it's good enough for me.
Oh, did I mention that we're headed back to Provincetown on mid-semester break? Our hosts won't be joining us--there's some kind of family crisis--but insist we come anyway. Now that's hospitality, or if it isn't, it's good enough for me. Who would have though being a Poor Relation could be so much fun?
Hang in there.
We will all hang together, or we will most assuredly hang separately...
C
How nice not to be one anymore...
I checked the calendar before hitting the hay last night [in my wide, lonely bed--it's the end of the marking period and snoring has become a federal crime] and The Night was actually October 14th, not the 11th. I can track it not only because I unwittingly corresponded with the RBF about attending, and still have the messages in my account to look at, but because it was a Saturday. What a relief. This way, I get three days warning from the entire gay community that I have to start thinking about winding the Goat up to get sentimental. It's OK this year and maybe next, but soon enough it will fall NOW, i.e., on a weekend when the Goat feels he doesn't have time to breathe, let alone share oxygen [let alone spit] with anyone else.
Those of you who have been following these ramblings for a while will hardly be surprised by the degree of cluelessness thus exhibited. A good month after moving, I am still surrounded by unpacked boxes, books with no shelves to go on, and un-surrounded by whatever I really want, like my coffeepot.
In the course of the last couple of days, I have managed to misplace the one of my tape-measures I'd been able to find, my flashlight, and my cell-phone. (I need the flashlight because most of my things are stored in a long, narrow closet with no window and no light...) After wasting the better part of a day looking for them in the same places over and over again [and frantically calling the cell-phone from the phone in any recently visited space I could think of, in hopes of hearing it ring], I came across the flashlight in plain sight right where I had left it, found the other tape-measure in the armrest between the front seats of the car, and, after lamenting the loss of my phone to the Goat from car to car when we rendez-voused, got out of the car and promptly saw it on the seat, right where my wide-body butt had been. I am still down one tape-measure, but who's counting?
You know what I love about the Goat? He's quite happy to call himself a dizzy airhead, but he never takes the opportunity to point out the similarity to me, when occasion arises. Now that's love, or if it isn't, it's good enough for me.
Oh, did I mention that we're headed back to Provincetown on mid-semester break? Our hosts won't be joining us--there's some kind of family crisis--but insist we come anyway. Now that's hospitality, or if it isn't, it's good enough for me. Who would have though being a Poor Relation could be so much fun?
Hang in there.
We will all hang together, or we will most assuredly hang separately...
C
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