I think I’m going to leave him. OR BETTER YET, I think I will stay and be a raving bitch! Maybe a more sinister plan is to become a passive aggressive hag. I will wash his white shirts with my red towels. I will scrub the toilet with his toothbrush and then but it back in the holder. I will burn his tator-tots. I will give the dog diarrhea (which translates into a DISASTER in the backyard). I will talk in my sleep about other men. I will make Quiche every night for dinner.
Normally it wouldn’t bother me, but the faithful Jag would not start, so I had two choices:
1. Stay home with the painting/carpentry gang and try to write while they blasted rap/reggae music all with the tap, tap, tap of their hammering.
2. Have an employee pick me up and be a retail hostage all day.
I went for retail, spent the day wrestling software, arguing with little old ladies about the price their returns to QVC was going to cost and finding the biggest potato bug in history the back of a cupboard as I pulled out a ream of paper. When they restarted my heart, I had to notarize two divorces. These are always bad. Someone is forever pissed. One man cried as he signed every paper. The other let the children obliterate my store while the Plaintiff and him threw insults at each other.
I got a ride home at 6:30 hungry for this menu:
Fried green tomatoes, frisee, baby radicchio, Nueske bacon lardons, green garlic dijon vinaigrette, farm egg
Maine lobster pot pie
Arborio rice, market vegetables, herb puff pastry
Chicken leg confit
Balsamic roasted spring onions, pomme puree, sherry jus
Angel food ginger bread pudding with clementine ice cream, sesame brittle
What I ate was sliced cheese and crackers. I did treat myself to a bottle of Foxen Syrah, to lessen the pain.
One of the newly single guys asked me out on a date after the ink had dried on his divorce papers, if I don’t get my rendezvous at the Cass House soon; I’m taking him up on it.