When I learned that my wife will be staying at her mom's tonight, I got a guilty, giddy feeling. You know the one. I beat myself up for having that giddy feeling while taking a quiet soak in the hot tub with background music by Bob Seger. I had a really cold Bud Light and a stout Cuban cigar while watching the clouds race across the sky. There must be some fast upper winds tonight.
Then I dried off and hit the fridge. I ate about half a jar of sliced grapefruit with a little sugar on it, and a peanut butter sandwich. Washed it down with two pints of ice cold milk. The Gods of the Frigidaire must be smiling on me tonight, the whole thing was a near-religious experience. I'm not sure how citric acid, peanuts and dairy do together, so I'm sure it will trigger a gastro-chemical reaction at about bedtime. But for now, I'm good.
If my wife were home tonight, she'd surely remind me how unhealthy it is to eat after 8, how much cholesterol peanut butter has, and how Wonder bread contains no real nutrients. Probably more things I can't think of now. But hey. She's gone.
Hell, it's only 1 am. There's still some week-old meatloaf in there, some leftover breakfast potatoes, the rest of that jar of grapefruit, and some spicy polish sausage. And about a half-gallon of 33 degree fresh milk left. I might just go all-in.
I wonder if I could talk my wife into one more night with her mom.
I wish I had some Spam.