Baby It's Cold Inside

I just got off the phone with the husband who wanted to know, of all things, if I had any desire to go see the musical Wicked at the Pantages Theater. Tonight. Where the cold and rain is.

I couldn't help but laugh when he asked. Why was this so very wrong of him? Because it was on many, many levels.

He knows, or should by now, that live theater, of any sort, makes me so uncomfortable. I have a problem with people emoting in close proximity to my person. Though I did sort of enjoy Urine Town when my friend Laura took me for my birthday when I still lived in San Francisco. It was funny and about urine, but not. Anyway. Today is Wednesday and Wednesdays are my get stuff done days because the kid gets out of school early so I really have no time to write. This also means I end up having to parent my kid for most of the day on my own and the last thing I'd ever want to do would be watch some woman in green make-up sing and emote. My plan, fantasy more like it, was to pass the kid off to the husband as soon as he comes through the door and make a run for my bed and book, Final Theory and yes, it rocks so far, and not emerge until the scent of food I neither had to shop for or cook tickled my nose.

But now I feel bad. The husband made an effort to do a husband and wife type of thing and I laughed in his ear. Sure, the tickets were being comped by Oracle, but he did bother to ask. Below is my low fuss, easy to assemble kit to make it up to the husband and still allow me to get away with enjoying my ideal Wednesday night.

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