twenty years

Two decades. I met my husband twenty years ago tonight.

You're thrilled and amazed, I can tell.

'Nuff said. I wrote this long sappy thing last year, and I think we're past that. We're older, wiser, whatever.

On the other hand, he was bored today and asked me if I wanted to, you know... while the kids were at school. (Don't even get me started on school. Not going well, I'm finally admitting it. There. I said it. Tomorrow I begin to rectify the situation.)

So we're old, but not dead, apparently.

I'm in the midst of going out four nights in a row and was just asked by a hot, young soccer player if I'd like to come watch his game tomorrow night. "We get drinks after," he said.

"Sounds intriguing," I said, laughing. (Cuz one of the players is my neighbor who is as damn old as I am.)

"There's wine," he said.

Hmm.

Wine.

Tempting.



My dog is talking to me and I don't know what she's saying. Maybe:

"Go to bed, row-wollrrrrr."

Hmm.

Tempting.