Greg went out to dinner last night to celebrate a friend’s birthday, and I stayed home with Eleanor. Greg often stays home so that I can go out, so I wanted to return the favor. But I still gave him a bit of a guilt trip before he left.
We’ve had some really cold weather this week, followed by multiple days of rain, so Eleanor and I have been stuck inside since last weekend, and we are both feeling grumpy about it. Most kid-friendly activities here are outdoors because it’s sunny about 95 percent of the time. And we’ve run through all the indoor activities available — twice. Anyway, I was complaining to Greg about how boring life had been lately.
After he left, I put Eleanor to bed, slipped into my pajamas and settled down on the couch to read. About 8:15, I saw a car slow in front of our house. A moment later, the doorbell rang. When I answered it, a man wearing a suit and a loud violet tie said “I’m here for a pick up.”
I gave him a puzzled look. Was this a shipping service? Was he picking up some sort of package? I glanced past him to the car. A shiny limo.
Oh! I spent a moment toying with the fantasy that Greg had decided to throw some excitement into my life and had sent the limo to whisk me away to a nice dinner. Then I looked down at my pajamas. And considered the toddler sleeping upstairs. Nope. This limo was not for me. I told the man he had the wrong place.
A little part of me wishes I would have tracked down a baby-sitter and hopped in.