Monday, June 28, 2010

Home stretch

We are in the home stretch of our construction adventure.
Now, for me, the home stretch is the installation of my french doors and some sheet rock hitting my walls.
We still have to run the electrical, the plumbing, the insulation, the remaining sheet rock, flooring, and buy a new heating and air unit.
And then we still have to sign the divorce papers, but that's another story altogether.
Amazingly, we are still married--thus far!--and I haven't shoved him off the roof in a fit of rage.
Mostly because I will not climb up the scaffolding to get on the roof and shuffle over the parts of my roof I'm instructed not to step ion to shove him.
So I've stood on eh ground, looking up and fantasizing.
Saturday, I got in my car with the intent of draining our bank accounts and heading to Mexico. I was resolved to be the elusive hermit who sits on the beach drinking margaritas all day.
But I forgot the book I was reading and had to turn back.
So I decided to play smart, not hard.
I opted to let him finish the addition, then kick hi out, not divorcing him in the process. I will not turn The man lose to find joy with some other woman. I still want him at my beck and booty call.
But the allure of a brand new bedroom, bathroom, and closet with no man funk is too much to resist.
It's virgin territory and I intend to pop that cherry myself.
So we trudge along, The Man with his dreams of a room away from the kids, a bathroom sink of his own, and an unchristened toilet. And me with my dreams of a stinky male free zone.

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