I’m trying to think of another time in the nearing-six-year history of this blog when I didn’t post for three consecutive days, and I can’t come up with anything other than the time my hosting company broke their server and then lodged their heads so far up their asses I was offline for half a week. Truly, this sort of silence is unprecedented. Such a thing can only be the result of an event so catastrophic I’ll need forty paragraphs just to chronicle every horrific detail.
Or maybe I’ve just been sitting on the couch watching DVDs. Hard to say, really. I mean, there’s something like 176 episodes of The West Wing and I’d never seen any of them before last week, soooo….
Before I planted my ass in front of the television, though, there was Christmas. And on Christmas, we had my ex-husband for dinner.
Uh, I don’t mean we ATE him. I mean he joined us for dinner. You knew that, right?
Oh, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I had a few paranoid fantasies in which dinner was such an unmitigated disaster that it made for unparalleled blog fodder. But the bigger truth is that we’re coming up on seven years since the split and a part of me does feel like it’s ridiculous that we still have problems getting along. I mean, obviously, if getting along was EASY we’d still be married. But c’mon; seven years. And we don’t have to interact all that often. We’re both adults, and now it’s just bordering on the ridiculous. So. Surely we could all get through a nice dinner without incident, yes?
Actually, yes. Utterly un-blog-worthy, unless you’re interested to know that if you make your ham glaze with orange juice instead of water, it’s even more delicious. Yes. I just offered you ham glaze as the most interesting part of sitting down to dinner with both my current and past husbands. Sorry.
The kids seemed pretty happy about it all, and that made all of us happy. The end.
Boring for blogging, but good for life. Turns out I’ll totally take that.
[Thank goodness, too. Because my ex likes to vehemently deny that he reads my blog, and in return I pretend to believe him. Generally speaking I simply don’t write about matters pertaining to him, but had Christmas dinner been a series of unfortunate events I’m not sure I could’ve stopped myself. And I cannot decide if that knowledge—which he surely shares, despite supposedly never reading me—was the reason all went well, or if it was truly all of us being responsible adults and putting the children first. Either way, I guess it doesn’t much matter. Though I will be over here chuckling about how in nine years of marriage I never did find a better method of keeping things civil than writing about my life on the internet turns out to be. I’m just SAYING.]
After dinner the kids went off with their dad to return to New England for a week, and Otto and I commenced frolicking naked. And here by “frolicking naked” I of course mean “watching West Wing episodes until our eyeballs popped out.” Sheesh, don’t be so literal all the time.
So that’s pretty much the scintillating explanation of where I’ve been. Come back tomorrow and we can discuss my dog’s ears. That’s going to be even MORE exciting.