You know what they say: when the cat's away, the mouse will play. My adoring husband and I don't exactly have a cat-and-mouse relationship, but I do enjoy my free time when he is out of town. Last week found Clint away for the night on business, so I declared it a free day. And free days are awesome.
Free days are when you can do all the things you don't get to do when you're being supervised. I don't have to make up the bed, there are no meals to cook, and I don't have to be productive because there is not a soul around to notice. (Except Cotton and he can easily be bought. A walk and a chew treat, and his lips are sealed).
Last week was a particularly fantastic free day. I got caught up on some reading (InStyle, a couple of People magazines that had been piling up in the magazine rack and making me nervous...something about a royal baby). Then I systematically watched every guilty pleasure show that makes Clint whine/sigh/beg to change the channel. Cue marathon run of Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders: Making the Team, Fashion Police, a Christmas movie, and then the capper: I rented Magic Mike (which, to clarify, is best viewed with no sound and a heavy hand on the fast forward button).
That's right. The cat is away, and the mouse is at home, ogling scantily clad beefcakes on the cat's new wide screen HD television. I just knew that purchase would make more sense to me if I gave it time. Magic Mike was just the right time.
Free days are also an awesome time to eat things that my other half hates. Pizza Hut is about 100 yards from my house, but carryout would have meant changing out of my fuzzy pink slippers and leaving the warm glow of my Christmas tree. Needless to say, I called for delivery. One Veggie Lover's pizza, all for me. I got to eat black olives on said pizza without anyone pointing out that they are disgusting and gross and making gagging noises. And another trick I've learned to really enjoy free day?
Can you spot the free day bonus in this picture?
Yep, I'll admit it. I hid a pint of Ben & Jerry's behind the frozen vegetables so I could eat the entire carton all by myself. Hey, if you are afraid of frozen broccoli you get what you deserve. It just tastes better when it's devious, believe me on that.
And there you have it: a do nothing day of magazines, chick shows and junk food. It's probably a good thing I didn't marry a traveling salesman, or I would weigh 300 pounds and regurgitate nothing but pop culture when I finally ventured out of the house for more Doritos and US Weeklys.
The cat, er, Clint came back the next night. There were clean sheets on the bed, two loads of laundry done, vacuum tracks on all the carpet in the house, and dinner cooking on the stove. The