“But the other woman will always cry herself to sleep. The other woman will never have his love to keep” LdR

I lost an entire weekend to the road. Driving my sister across state to clean out her apartment. It was late Sunday night when we got back. I helped unload the truck then tossed her the keys “You get to take it back”. I spent an hour tidying up the house –I don’t know if feng shui is real but I know I cant relax in a messy home. Lit incense. Attended to the pets. Then it was time for me.
So here I sit, naked on my bed, sipping two fingers of bourbon on the rocks, candles lit, typing.
Know what else is relaxing? Polishing boots. It was a zen-like ritual of water, cotton, wax and fire. I could spend an hour slowing buffing leather into a mirror. I keep hoping uniform standards will shift again and they’ll bring back the old leather boots. Not that I may ever have a reason to polish—or even wear—combat boots again.
Oh but today…I briefly visited my favorite cousin. Everyone warned me that her 3 year old daughter, the princess that I adore, has become quite the terror. Charming in her Disney princess tu-tu dress, I presented her with a vintage rhinestone necklace that I found while antiquing recently. A bit mature of a gift for a 3 year old but it was dainty and so sparkley…she loved it of course. Then half an hour later, she was shrieking and throwing a full blow CAT 5 tantrum. When she kicked her mother, my instinct was to snatch her up, haul her outside and wear out her bottom. Children must never strike a parent and get away with it in my opinion. But she’s not my child. So I sat there silently while my exhausted cousin tried to coax her unruly girl to behave. Meanwhile her 1 year old son happily stuffed mac-n-cheese into his mouth (while dropping most on the floor) and blowing spit bubbles. In another year or two, he may rival his big sister in the Hellion department but for now, he’s just a sweet-natured, joyful baby. I used to joke that ill-behaved children made me thankful that I didn’t have any kids of my own. I don’t make that joke anymore. Go ahead! Give me the shrieking, kicking demon-child. I just want children.
Now the bourbon is gone and it’s well past time to try to sleep. So I will do what I do every night and garrison myself with pillows and pretend they are him…

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