No, I haven't gone from being a female professional to a professional female -- it's just been a strange couple of weeks.
Three hotels (ranging from Five Diamond to remote-chained-to-nightstand), a futon in Houston, a couch in San Diego, my niece's bed in Buffalo (with shirtless posters of 50 Cent, JaRule and Eminem staring at me in rueful disbelief), a carriage house in Virginia and finally, my own magnificent four-poster complete with snoring husband.
Unfortunately, that is about the only good part about coming back. All the work left undone, remains undone. More tasks have piled up in my absence. Everything on the island is coated in a saffron haze of pine tree pollen and the little lung capacity I have left is sputtering.
The solution is apparent. We're leaving in the morning.
Reservations are set for three nights in Fort Lauderdale and one in Orlando. I'll get inspired at Sleuthfest. He'll get fired up about the coming Cardinals season by attending a few spring training games.
I'm counting on plenty of poolside time with good books and silly drinks. We're celebrating our anniversary by escaping all the getting away from it all.
My husband understands that the previous sentence actually makes sense to me.
He understands it doesn't have to make sense to him.
That's probably how we've made it to seven years.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs