I should be crawling into the Mister’s man cave to apologize for hurting his feelings…The thing is, I am not sorry in the least. I should be, but I’m not.

Why?

I’m not sorry for speaking up this time, because there have been dozens, maybe a hundred, other times I ate shit politely with a knife and fork, while he spoke rudely, loudly or inappropriately. Or because he found himself in a disagreeable situation because, he did not read the signs or heed warnings, and faced consequences for his actions. All those times I stood quietly singing the lyrics of Liz Phair’s What Makes You Happy in my head while he ranted and had his moment. I have allowed him many moments.

For all the times he interrupted me mid sentence to correct some seriously significant, or seemingly inconsequential detail about his profession or the specificity of detail, and completely obliterate any contribution or point I attempted to make. And for all the times I allowed him to slaughter the details of my profession and explain concepts to others he didn’t fully grasp.

So this time I called him on it. One time out of dozens. Eight hours have passed and I’m not sorry. I don’t believe in saying words that lack meaning.

Maybe tomorrow I will say it with feeling…

• Garbage pick up twice a week.
• Listening to the Mister sing along with Fleetwood Mac when he doesn’t know I’m listening.
• High Temperature at the New Place today: 65; High at the Old Place today: 81.
• The local wine store will stay open beyond regular business hours if you call and tell them you are running late.
• The phone doesn’t ring every fifteen minutes.
• Even the local wild life is relaxed



• I no longer have a mountain of boxes in the center of the living room. Now, they’re broken down in the garage
• Eating lunch on the deck, while watching the birds. Yes, I’m boring.
• Being within walking distance from places like this: