She Said: My husband’s in Toronto and I’m on my own for a few weeks. Here’s what I’ve been up to!
(1) The second the door closes behind him:
Well, not right away. I precede it with a couple Horatio Cane quotes:
“Looks like the verdict is in… (PUTS ON SUNGLASSES) but the husband is out.” YEEAAAAAAHHH!!!
“Seems your husband’s allergic to cats. While the cat’s away… (PUTS ON SUNGLASSES) the mice will play.” YEEAAAAAAHHH!!!
Okay, shut up, they’re not all gonna be winners.
(2) Next up? The celebratory dance. Be patient. I really get going after the 20-second mark:
(3) I carefully put my shoulders back in their sockets and wander the house looking for mischief. Find none. Move on to next stage of my alone time: watching massive amounts of television.
* Enlightened (pace yourself with this show because it is just too hard on your heart to watch a bunch in a row - but have your mind BLOWN TO KINGDOM COME when you realize Damon is also Deacon on Nashville and… wait for it… Chip from Whose Line is it Anyway!!!!!)
* Archer (as far as cartoons go, I’ve had one main crush: Boomhauer from King of the Hill. Thanks to H. Jon Benjamin, I now want to go Cool World on Archer AND Bob Belcher)
* Happy Endings and the aforementioned Nashville.
(4) After all that stimulating tee-vee goodness, I’m kinda bored.
(5) I pry my buttocks off the couch (okay, bed… okay, floor) and head to the gym.
Turns out there’s a new instructor. Turns out he looks like Channing Tatum. Like, exactly like Channing Tatum. Like, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to concentrate on anything but his Channing Tatumness. So I don’t. I do this:
As I contemplate the possibility that it really is Channing Tatum, and he’s doing a stealth promotion for G.I. Joe where he drops in on random gyms to graciously teach lesser beings, he heads to the back of the room and changes his sneakers.
This is some brink of hell, burning lake, pestilence and war shit. Anyone study Paradise Lost?
… black it stood as night, fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell…
Yeah, times that by a THOUSAND and you have some idea of the smell unleashed by his feet.
My Channing would never subject a room full of innocent people to a stench that Satanic. Clearly it was just a regular (though super hot) guy with a monolithic foot odor problem. Just as clearly, I feel the need to talk about it, loudly, after class, not noticing the guy’s girlfriend is standing four feet away. So I’m laughing and shouting things like “insane stench!” “no, not B.O., FEET!!” and “Oh my GOD, I was throwing UP!” and they’re like:
I’m a horrible person. Still. Let’s just hope he gets the medical attention he needs.
(6) Back at home, a weird feeling comes over me. What is this…?
Wait, I’ve had this before. I miss my husband! Will I ever get over the sads?
(7) I take a look at my To Do List and realize I have a poop-ton of work to do. GAK!! Screw sadness, time to get busy, bitch!