Captivating
It’s Saturday night. I am sitting here with tissues plugging my red runny nose, electric blanket on, boys in front of a movie, husband out making an appearance at the 50 th birthday party we were supposed to go to, weeping over a stupid (read awesome) book, cup of tea on the bedside table and a copy of ‘Psychology Today’ next on my list of reading fodder. I am a captivating sight. I know. I have managed through the day of sausage sizzles and birthday present purchases, taxi driving and supermarket trips and hit a wall at about 4pm. Thus hopped into bed, and cuddled up with said of cup of tea and book. ‘Encouraged’ husband to take 7 year old boys to mini golf, second favourite activity next to ten-pin bowling, only to have them return, one in tears, as it was closed. For goodness sake, it’s Labour Weekend. Bless their hearts; they let me doze for about an hour while they watched a movie together and made dinner. Hubby has since skulked off, dateless, as the sober driver for other