Stay of Execution

For those of you who are interested, I just got a last minute reprieve from the potential demise of my marriage.  Wow...somebody's got a case of the big words today. 

Jeff is still scheduled to change work hours in the near future.  Just not next week.  And by "change work hours", I mean start a schedule that puts him at home with me every night and every weekend.  Indefinitely.  This could be a problem.  Luckily, the guy they hired to replace him in his current position didn't work out, which leaves Jeff right where he is for at least another month.

Being hardly ever together has worked surprisingly well for us. There's a reason I refer to him as my "fictional husband Jeff".  That's also the reason why people assume my brother, with whom I spend a lot of time, is my husband.  Gross.  No offense, Scott.   

I've had many, many glorious years of eating puffed Cheetos and a piece of cheese for dinner while Jeff works nights.  The cheese is for protein to make it a balanced meal.  I'm healthy like that.  Did I mention the copious amounts of wine? I have a feeling that Jeff is not going to consider this an appropriate meal.  And those weekends when he works?  PJ's all day, baby!  Sometimes I don't even wash my face until he calls me to say that he's on his way home.  Good times.

Jeff's about to realize what a lazy shit bag I can be, and he's going to trade me in like an '86 Saturn.  For someone new, with firmer suspension and a tighter turning radius.  *ahem*

We worked the same schedule when we were first married, but I'm fairly certain that he overlooked my shortcomings because we were young & in love.  We're still in love, I just don't have that "new wife smell" anymore. Now I smell more like day-old wine and mediocrity.

The only bright spot in this potential catastrophe is that with Jeff home on weekends to take care of the dogs, I can get on the road for a Magical Mystery Tour of Girlfriends.  And Guyfriends.  I don't discriminate.  All my highly functioning alcoholic friends are equal to me. 

Plus, we just built that Mack-Daddy garage so Jeff has a place to escape the chaos.  Where he can bang his head against the wall in frustration privately.   And I can cook.  Really well.  My Chicken Pot Pie will make you wanna slap your Grandma. 

I figure I'll just feed him and stay out of his line of sight for the first few weeks.  For a break-in period, if you will.  Besides, he can't divorce me.  I'm not through ruining his life!  He still thinks I'm kidding when I tell him this.  Poor guy.