Am in the motherland (Texas) for spring break!
Arrived an hour ago after an 8 1/2-hour drive from Little Rock. Solo. The Hubs, you see, has more trouble getting time off than I do.
Anyway, the trip went fairly smoothly. We stopped at a Taco Cabana and ate outside — the better to enjoy the lovely weather. Spent most of the drive alternately singing to Friday-night radio club mixes and lying to the children about “how much longer” it would be before we got here.
Am now drinking raspberry vodka and diet Coke.
Yesterday I promised to reveal Hubs’ explanation as to why men always accost their significant others while said others are busy cooking in the kitchen.
I assumed it was because Hubs nurtured some sort of Mad Men fantasy in which his wife greeted him at the door in an apron, served up an astonishing dinner and then orchestrated stunning choreography in the bedroom.
As it turns out, Hubs sees my time in the kitchen as an opportunity.
“You’re vulnerable,” he explains, referring to my position at the stove, stirring whatever happens to be in the pot. “You can’t escape when I try to grope you.”
So I’m the doe and he’s the pursuing buck.
I think I liked my theory a whole lot better.