Me Time

The Lord & Master showered, shaved, wrangled into one of his many fabulous neckties and toddled off to the university where he teaches to attend a powow featuring a visiting government dignitary.

Anxious to beat the road-clogging commuters, he left at 2 p.m. for an 8 p.m. event. I know, even the Bay Area doesn’t have that much traffic. Try telling the L&M that. So, a mere hour after his departure, he’s ensconced in his office. What does this mean for me? A lotta phone calls. Updates on his every move, every thought, every piece of mail upon his desk.

Excuse me, how’s a girl supposed to catch up on the post-Italy DVR backlog? America’s Next Top Model isn’t going to watch itself. In between chats with the L&M, I learn the fate of a couple of tall, skinny, vacant young lassies.

Grabbing a moment for myself has always been a challenge. I don’t know why, but I’m enormously popular with both my husband and daughter. For reasons unknown, they enjoy my company and expect me to participate in actual conversations with them on a regular basis. For a while when Sassafrass was in high school, I donated blood regularly, every eight or ten weeks. And not just the old pint withdrawal, either. I did the aspheresis procedure, where they spin out the goop into separate elements.

Why, you may ask?

#1. It takes longer.

#2. They cover you with heated blankets.

#3. They line up a DVR for your viewing pleasure.

#4. You get a free donut or pack of Oreos after.

Except for the needle in my arm, it was like being at a spa! Talk about swanky. Just a little Me Time.

Meanwhile, back at the house the other night and giddy at the prospect of a leisurely afternoon and evening with the L&M out of the house, instead he’s a near-constant presence from afar. Damn.

At the magic hour – 8 p.m. – I get ready for some serious uninterrupted viewing. At 8:05, the phone rings.

“I’m coming home. I’m done. I’m outta here. I met Mr. X, told him my Big Idea that I spent all day working on, and he laughed. He laughed at me. That’s it. I’m never attending anything at the university again. I don’t need this. Everything bad that could possibly happen today has happened. And they held the event in a tent! I’m dying. Who holds an event in a tent? I’m coming home.”

My mind’s too boggled for me to say much. But my spouse has one more little surprise for me.

“Hey, what’s for dinner?”

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