Home again, home again! [Or perhaps more appropriately, whereIlive again, whereIlive again.]
Yesterday, I put on my blue suede shoes and boarded a two hour flight from RDU to Albany. Every minute had all of the pent-up, gleeful anticipation of Christmas Eve—I was just silly excited to FINALLY see my husband again! I married that man because if there’s one thing that Sweet Home Alabama taught me, it’s that marriage means you get to kiss your husband whenever you want.
And I want. Distance puts a damper on that, thus distance=not okay.
Leaving this time was an enormous step up from a the first time that I left RDU to fly back—that time as I sat at gate A25, I was valiantly fighting the lip-quivering urge to ugly-cry like a small, emotionally disturbed child, and trying to determine which of my friends would be most likely to come pick me up, hide me in her bedroom closet and NOT tattle on me for ditching my flight.
Don’t hate me for my emotional stability and rational decision-making.
Reunited at long-last, Kellan and I arrived back at our apartment and I melted all over the tile kitchen floor because ROSES. Not only had my devastatingly handsome husband carefully arranged pink and yellow roses in a mug [Bless him, he couldn’t find the vase!], but every inch of our apartment was spotless. He’d even folded up the bathroom towels just the way I like them because the man knows that his wife is neurotic and nothing gets me like a well-folded towel.
Amusingly, a quick perusal of our fridge showed that like a dog to it’s vomit, a husband without his wife will return to his old ways and four rather suspect pieces of deli turkey,a box of instant mashed potatoes [a phenomenon that I am utterly convinced will usher in the fall of human civilization as we know it] and an oversized package of mini kit kats presented too much of a culinary challenge for a Tuesday night. Serendipitously, every Tuesday some of Kellan’s buddies from work partake a little tradition that they like to call “Taco Tuesday”, and when Kellan offered to take me I felt like Mary Bailey when George offered to lasso her the moon. [“Do you want the moon, Mary? I’ll do it. I’ll lasso you the moon.” BestillmybeatingHEART.] Now, rumor had it that Taco Tuesday is hallmarked by cheap margaritas and cheaper tacos, and so I didn’t hate it when an over-packed restaurant necessitated a game-time switch to a quaint little brewery called Druthers, where Kellan and I ordered matching his-and-her steak and spinach salads.
Unfortunately, there were no leftovers and so Fancy and I are off to the grocery store. Wherever it is. :)