Mr. Wonderful made the comment yesterday that I have pretty much changed my entire life in the year that we have been together.
I’d just told him that the only time I have been to the nice seafood restaurant in town, I was too hungover to hardly eat. So, of course, my smartass reply was, “Sure. I don’t go out and get sloppy with random people anymore.”
And he thought I was serious and I wasn’t and I’ve never been one to go out and get sloppy and I don’t drink that much anyway but PBR after a bottle of merlot is never a good idea, people.
And then I realized that yes, yes my life has completely changed in the last year.
Yes, I still work at Corporate Behemoth. But outside of that? Instead of coming home every night and either working or watching Dog the Bounty Hunter and doing Suduku, I’m interacting with the three-dimensional world.
Yeah, that’s a pretty big change. For the better. But sometimes I feel like I can’t catch my breath. I’m always late for something. I don’t have time to read. I actually vacuumed Mr. Wonderful’s blinds … something I’ve been meaning to do at my house for, oh, two years.
We’re staying at his house right now. So I’m at my house for the weekend while The Ladybug is at his house. There aren’t any groceries at my house. I ate a disgusting Totino’s frozen pizza for lunch, only to find while I was cleaning up that it expired last October.
My house isn’t my house anymore. But his house isn’t really my house yet. It’s unsettling. I am a nomad. However, I think that’s better than being a hermit, which is where I was headed.
And instead of holding old photos of my dogs, my refrigerator now boasts numerous cards and notes from Mr. Wonderful. And a delightful new addition – a drawing by The Ladybug that features a Foxie Doxie-esque dog and a stick figure that’s supposed to be me. Me, if I had bunny ears and was pregnant.
Seriously. Mr. Wonderful keeps making fun, and I can’t say I blame him. How many stick figures do you know who have two sets of ears (one human, one bunny) and a large, protruding midsection? Oh, and no arms. I can only imagine what that 4-year-old brain thinks of me.