Tonight was so interesting. Between the usual daily madness of mothering, cleaning, cooking, errand-running, FB-ing, email checking, napping, sock finding, googly-eyed puppet-making, Halloween costume hunting, folding laundry and poem-editing—I was able to read the current draft of a script my husband is writing for BLAAAAANK. PDF files are a joy these days if one needs to make comments. Post-it stickies pop right up and are handily stored (handy, that is, once I figured out the viewing process—during which there were a few inappropriate exclamations and not much ratiocination). So when my husband joined me in our bed home office this evening to receive my notes, it was all so, so easy and efficient. “See?” I gushed excitedly. “The post-it came right up! Ha ha! Fabulous.” “That’s—really great, PB,” my husband replied, glancing at his watch. “Er—can we move on to the next post-it now?” “Look! Post-it, no post-it, stickie, no stickie. Or you can view them all in List format. Ha ha!”
It was a satisfying togetherness-session. We were like the Keener/what’s-that-actor’s-name duo in People With Money, you know, the script writing couple—except we are not a husband-wife professional screen-writing team, are not remodeling our home, are not headed for divorce and when I bang into something and let out a yelp because I’ve hurt myself, my husband always asks, immediately, “Are you okay?”—because he knows that if the Mother Figure breaks her neck and is exed out of the picture like in every single Disney flick ever made, it will be hard, very hard, to be a single dad (yeah, we’ve seen Kramer vs. Kramer). And, you know, he asks because he loves me.
It’s at this point, when the third blog-paragraph begins and the clock strikes 11:56p.m., that I, upon reading what I’ve written so far, realize it is time to say goodnight. Blacking out now. I mean, END.
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