- There is a new rule: in my car, Florence and the Machine must be blasted at top volume at all times. This rule pleases one child, who loves this music, but displeases another child, who gripes, "I don't see what is supposed to be so great about this Florence person."
- The foster kittens I've had since late September are back, since one developed an upper respiratory infection at the pound. The Sober Husband called this kitten "a flopper", because since he tore out of the cat carrier, he's been racing around this house like an Olympic athlete and appearing to be in the finest of health.
- I went out clubbing for the first time in memory (how many years has it been?), and after my companion got distracted, I ended up dancing in towering high heels with a cute gay boy of only about 24 years old for aeons. I discovered to my delight that someone out there has created at least one dark, danceable Shriekback cover. After my tortured feet finally gave out, my new friend and I were sitting in a booth when an adorable drag queen, also of only about 24 years old, threw herself across my friend and me, draping her arms around both of us. After we all chatted until closing time, the beautiful drag queen, kissing first me on the cheek and then my new friend, said longingly, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all had a house together? If the three of us lived together in a house?" I came so close to rudely laughing and saying, "I do own a house, and I live in it with my husband and children BECAUSE I AM OLD ENOUGH TO BE YOUR MOTHER."
- In other midlife-crisis related news, I got dressed up very fancily to go out, sans children, recently. Little Lola was obviously struggling to find the right, most tactful wording to bring something up, and delicately, gently she said, "From this angle, it seems like I can see your bra in that shirt." I said, "Lola, that is kind of the point of this shirt." Oh, the horrors of a middle-aged mother dressed as a skank!
- But do not fear, all these fashion, grooming, and exercise efforts do not go wasted. On a recent date night, I commanded the Sober Husband to give me a compliment, because I had put a lot of work into my appearance. After looking me up and down, he said, "You have much less cat hair on you than usual." Romance is not dead!!
2 comments:
Your husband must have gone to the same Compliments Academy my husband went to! But did your husband give you a blue Rubbermaid bucket for Christmas?
Um. One is tempted to say "keep the gay guy and drag queen; return the Sober Husband". But of course that would be tacky to say!
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