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Poor Perfect Husband hasn’t been feeling very perfect lately. Sitting around doped up on percocet watching me take care of Owl, cook, clean, and work was hard on him, especially when I began to get sick.

Of course, he was ill, so while being a temporarily single mom was challenging, I didn’t blame him in the least.

But he still felt bad.

So what did he go and do?

He booked me a hotel room. 

 

A hotel room with a four poster king sized bed and a whirlpool tub, and a lot of Roman-style decor.

I said, “I have ALWAYS wanted to sleep in a bed with curtains.”

He said, “I know.”

He dropped me off at 4 pm, gave me a kiss, and said, “see you tomorrow around 10:30 or 11ish.” Then he took Owl’s hand and they went home.

That’s right.

I get 18 hours TO MYSELF.

In a deluxe hotel room.

With a jacuzzi tub.

When I arrived, I didn’t know what to do first. Blog? Read in the bath? Eat a pomegranate?

First I figured out the WiFi. I mean, priorities, right?

Then I dealt with figuring out and ordering room service, thus getting my daily anxiety exposure and any need for human contact out of the way as soon as possible.

Then I downloaded a new game onto my iPod. A 16 bit style Oregon Trail remix for the zombie apocalypse.

Then I wondered, “why am I still wearing pants?”

It’s going to be a good night.

And I brought supplies.

Now I just need to eradicate the guilt and I’ll be set.

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