Husband for Sale - going cheap!

So the day after Thanksgiving, at the butt-crack of dawn, the WCM goes on a field trip searching for fossils in North Carolina. That's about 400 miles from our house - approximately 7 hours away by car. He planned to be gone all weekend and half of Monday. My first thought was "Sweet! A girlie weekend with Miss Peanut!" So for Friday, Miss Peanut and I bonded by bustling about the ancestral Manse, doing various chores and Christmas decorating.

Friday night, though, Miss Peanut went to my mother's house, leaving me with nothing to do. Harry Potter was playing, though, so I went. My brother came, too, surprising me. I mean, I'm grown, he's grown (well, physically. He's still as immature as they come), and we're hanging out? It was fun. He's a bad influence, though, as he was smoking cigarettes in the parking lot of the movie theater, thereby enticing me to have one. One cigarette, and I was completely fucked-up. Damn! That nicotine is fun.

The movie was great, once I staggered into the theater. Sure, there was a lot cut out and a bunch of stuff added, but it was good. I can't wait to see what they do with the rest.

Returning home, I had the surreal experience of sleeping alone (ok, the dog was with me, but it was completely platonic! Honest! I'm not April!) in the marital bed. Creepy. Quiet. Since I've been married, I've slept alone when I've been away on conferences and such, but never in my own bed. It was strange.

Saturday was cleaning day. I scrubbed the main floor of the house from stem to stern, pausing in the evening to attend a performance of The Nutcracker. Miss Peanut really liked it. I've always enjoyed The Nutcracker, but that is pretty much the extent of my ballet appreciation. Kind of sucks, because my father is the President of the First State Ballet Theater.

Got Miss Peanut to bed, took myself off to bed where I lay awake for a good half-hour contemplating why I couldn't fall asleep. It was the snoring. I missed it. The WCM can complain for the USA about my snoring. But I get the full whinge the morning after every time I snore - bitch, bitch, bitch. Yet, it seems I need his snoring to lull me to sleep. Weird.

Sunday, the WCM calls and says he'll be home early. But I'm not done cleaning yet! And, I have a surprise for him! I moved all of his fossils & fossil excavating tools down to the basement, where I've made him a study. It wasn't quite done and now he's moved my timeline up! Dammit! I cleaned frenetically, pausing only to piddle now and again. At last, I declared the house clean, wiped the sweat from my brow, and awaited my lord's return.

When he came home, it was to a clean, sweet-smelling house that was festively decorated for Christmas. His new study was polished to a gleam and was thoughtfully prepared from a space that used to be my scrapbooking nook. I hoped that he'd appreciate the hard work I'd put into the manor.

His only comment: "Smells nice in here."

Bastard.