Ok. Where’s my wife??? I get home – expecting my usual greeting at the door. You know the drill – wifey meets you at the door with your slippers, paper, and drink in hand (scotch, bourbon, or tequila – always clear, always cold), and supper on the table… But – nooooo – no Tracy. I had apparently forgotten (until now) that she is out having dinner with some of her groupies.. So – I am scrounging around for scraps, pouring my own drink, and walking barefoot. As soon as I post this, I need to catch up on the twitterverse and check in on work email.. Again.
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