Apparently, I Need a Hobby

The phone started ringing this morning before I had a chance to pour myself a cup of coffee. I always take that as a bad sign. It means either school is cancelled and God is laughing at me or I forgot to pay the credit card and now the stalkers bankers are looking to break my kneecaps to collect what is owed them.

Either way, an early morning phone call is not something I look forward to. Even if it does give me an excuse to use my throaty, sexy, husky voice first thing in the morning.

Luckily for me, it was my husband, calling to see how my night of getting farted on by Nixon, the World's Greatest Dog, Ever. went.

Bring, Bring

"Hello?" I answered cautiously, not recognizing the number and fearful a pack of crowbar wielding bankers stood outside my front door waiting to bust my kneecaps.

"Hey love, how's my doll face doing this morning?" Boo purred while the sounds of heavy machinery whirred in the background.

"I'd be better if I had a cup of coffee in my system and you didn't make me run to answer the phone first thing in the morning," I griped.

"Where are the kids? They could have answered it."

"They're getting ready for school. I think your daughter is blow-drying her hair, trying to get purdee for the boys and I don't want to know what your son is doing in the shower by himself. But he's been in there an awfully long time." Yawn.

"That's disgusting," Boo groaned.

"Here I thought you'd be proud your little boy is turning into a man," I snickered.

"Very funny. So what plans do you have for today?" he inquired.

"Trying to keep me on a short leash with a tight reign are you?" I asked in between gulps of coffee.

"No, I'm saving that for the bedroom, when I get home," he purred.

"You're a pig."

"Thank you. You love it. You married me."

"Only because I was knocked up and have rocks for brains."

"My wounded ego," he sighed and then barked some orders to some lackeys in the background in what sounded like Swahili to me.

"Well, I was thinking of vacuuming, changing the bed sheets and then getting on all fours and washing the floors with a scrub brush."

"Look at you being all Miss Molly Homemaker. Now what are you really planning on doing?" Damn, he's onto me. We've been married too freaking long. There is no pulling the wool over his beady little eyes.

"Probably just write on my blog and then troll the internets for entertainment until my ass grows numb and my eyes start to cross," I answered truthfully.

"You really need a hobby other than blogging."

"Well, I was thinking about going shopping. I'm thinking about buying some new houseplants."

"I meant, a hobby other than spending money," he countered.

"Oh. Then I guess it's back to blogging the day away," I said as I drained the last drops of my java from the cup.

"You could go to the gym you know. Get healthy. Build up your stamina for when I get home next week," he offered. I could tell he was proud of himself for this suggestion. Arse.

"Ya. I could do that. But then my ass wouldn't jiggle as much and to be honest, the jiggling keeps me company during the day. Makes me feel so not alone."

"Very funny."

"How's those manboobs of yours doing?" I countered. Nothing like turning the tables on him.

"They're filling out just fine, thank you. Listen, I've gotta go. Tell the kids I love them. Have a good day spending my money, love."

"Thank you. Have a good day earning me some more money to spend. Internet service isn't cheap out here, you know."

Sigh. "Ya. Thanks for reminding me. Love ya." And with that, he was gone and I was left to plan my day.

I love being a kept woman.

Now blogging or shopping? What's a girl to do?

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Need I remind you Boo, you have been complicit in feeding my addiction. Or have you forgotten Christmas?

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Ignore the bedhead and my husband's robe. I generally wake up looking like a supermodel. Really. I just didn't want to make any one feel bad about it...