I was perched on the fireplace of a local restaurant tonight -- dropping by a friend's birthday gathering -- when this emergency text came in: "gay husband booty call," followed by the elaboration, "movie scary, ambien early, jammies soft, pepsi diet."
The Gay Husband Booty Call Sleepover Kit: blue fuzzy woobie, 14 BluRays, cajun carryout, Ambien, $48 dollar candle -- all in a Louis Vuitton carry-on.
I think I'd actually already broken my Straight earlier in the day. All I know is when he left post-game, I'd already lost my voice and it's possible he'd suffered a small stroke or seizure on his right side. (He seemed fine to drive tho.)
We hung out in the kitchen rolling up the meatballs I'd started earlier in the day, and putting the finishing touches on the tomato bisque soup started yesterday. A.B.C. is one of the Straight Wife requirements -- Always Be Cooking. (Bear in mind, we were both eating Cajun out of carry-out containers, over the sink, while we prepped the Real food we'll be eating later in the weekend.)
And then came upstairs to relax with some TooMuchSexy Sam Shepard in Black Hawk Down.
We kept looking for the shower scene, but Nick now thinks that was from that other classic, "Black Cock Down."