Jason and I spent our anniversary weekend in a hotel. A hotel 20 minutes away from our house. A hotel 20 minutes away from our children.
(The first time you read "20 minutes" you were probably all, "awww," and smiled ruefully about This Fucking Economy. Then you read the second "20 minutes" and were all, "boom chicka wah wah.")
(Go on! Admit it! You smiled ruefully! You also read this website while wearing a floor-length silk dressing gown and ermine-trimmed bedroom slippers. DO NOT DESTROY MY ILLUSIONS, IMAGINARY AUDIENCE.)
(NOTE: I had to Google "ermine" to make sure that I was not making words up again. I do that sometimes. Amazingly, "ermine" is an animal that is indeed used to trim faaaahncy bedroom slippers. Even more amazingly, this is one of the first image results:
THAT's how I'm going to picture you in my head from now on. Unibrow and all.)
What was I talking about?
Oh! Our hotel room had a gigantic jacuzzi tub. Boom chicka wah wah, the end, except for the part where weoverslept and almost missed our dinner reservation. At 9 o'clock at night. That's what happens when you fall asleep at 6 o'clock. You cannot take us anywhere. We are so lame, and our pet ermine isn't even paper-trained.
(Pretty much the greatest thing ever coming tomorrow, thanks to a $2 sidewalk sale at a bookstore around the corner from our hotel. And by "greatest thing ever" you know I totally mean "the 1970s were fucked up, you guys.")