Well, I suppose every night is technically a bachelorette night 'cause I'm "an unmarried young woman" as my hardcover Merriam-Webster defines the word. But in nearly three years of cohabitation, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been alone at home overnight (I'm not counting my stint in Istanbul, various road trips, etc. because despite CJ not being there I wasn't actually HOME).
So anyhow, this afternoon CJ headed to Columbus to eat pizza & fast food and play video games in his underwear (or something like that) with his soon-to-be brother in law (AJ) and AJ's best friend. As he left, I though to myself that I ought to take this opportunity to do everything I can't do when he's around. Giggle! Yay! Girl time!
So I thought. And thought. And I realized I have a pretty damn tolerant boyfriend. I thank his three sisters for breaking him in for me.
The only thing I could think of that he absolutely can't stand me doing is..... drumroll... eating crackers in bed.
Wait! Stop! It's not a habit or weird fetish like George's corned beef issue in that episode of Seinfeld (see below) ... it's just something I did once and he flipped out over. Apparently he doesn't mind if I let my cat walk on the dining room table and drink out of my cereal bowl, he's fine with it if I crank up an old Bratmobile CD and sing along at top volume, and likes me enough that he's even learned to tolerate the mountain range of laundry that develops between the bedroom, bathroom, and laundry room. He's even trained himself to tune out the DVDs I watch over and over and over again for background noise when I'm doing work at home.
I guess I have it pretty good after all.
Just to feel wild and unrestrained, though, I just might walk to the store and buy some Triscuits to munch on after tucking myself in with one of the thirty-seven novels, journals, magazines, and crossword puzzle books I keep stashed by the bed. Muah hah hah. While the cat is away, the mouse will play.
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