Coming Home

Back in March, when my husband left me and the children for fresh mountain air, I was sad to see him go. Okay, more like excited. For the first time in seventeen years, I’d be on my own. Yes, back in 1993 I did solo in a studio apartment for six months. However, Man of My Dreams came over to visit. A lot.

So this was going to be my time in the sun, so to speak. Woo Hoo! Let’s sow an oat or two, baby. Although I’d miss him terribly, I’d find a way to enjoy myself. Here's what I ended up doing instead. I:

- Rented In Her Shoes and Must Love Dogs. Why? Because I wanted to. Yes, I later came to regret such choices, but still, felt good at the time.

- Ate weekly pint of Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream all by myself. Puppy Dog Eyes who always asks for “just one bite” but ends up eating half? 1600 miles away and can eat his own damn ice cream.

- Soaked nightly in Patchouli Oil Bubble Bath – which, turns out, is much more enjoyable without Half Naked Man walking by with clothespin on nose in protest.

- Thoroughly enjoyed not looking at dirty boxers on the floor, not asking grown man to get his hands out of his pants, and not begging for ten minutes alone with the porn tapes.

Okay, I’ll be honest. After about two weeks, I was done. First of all, dirty boxers aren’t that bad when the owner rubs my shoulders, makes me laugh and listens to complaints about Tony Snow without falling asleep.

Plus, that long line of hot men looking to entertain lonely wives only exists in Danielle Steel novels. All I got were horn dogs who lost their nerve once the alcohol wore off. Great. College all over again.

Yes, when all was said and done, I realized I could do this life gig on my own. What felt even better? Knowing I don’t want to. When husband comes home tonight, I think I’ll tell him that.