Your Cheatin' Heart Will Tell On You

Since I've been home, The Donor and I have really only had a few hours together, and those were spent mostly recouping from the most impressive, thorough hangover the world has ever known, or ever will know. One for the books, that was. He shuffled off to work the day after I came home, and though we've slammed a mug of coffee together here and there, we haven't really been able to catch up. I mean, he's been reduced to subscribing to my blog, and, like, almost no one does that.

Tuesday night, he didn't come home from work until half past way too late to be working and last night he went out with his buddy to "keep him from gambling too much at the casino", which you know and I know and he knows means oogling dancing girls WAY out of his league, but I digress. We'll let him have his little story.

Except that this post is going to his inbox as soon as I hit publish. Fuck me.

Tonight, however, he was getting off work early (read: quarter til eleven) and I thought I'd give him a little sumpin' sumpin' to come home to. You know, since I sorta owe him and shit. And so, I made a little cheese and cracker plate (on the good app plates, which normally hold fingerpaints) (and I actually sliced them, I didn't just buy the bag of the pre-sliced ones that always have that stuff in them that looks like cocaine but does not in any way work like cocaine) (not that I'd know, just an observation)


And since we had all this fine, savory, smokey cheese with the Good Crackers and all, I figured we'd ought to have a little sweet to go with it, and everyone knows that chocolate is an excellent aphrodisiac.


I am so classy, what can I say? And then I lit the one and only remaining candle we own and slipped into something a little more comfortable.


But by then I had become so overcome by my own mad ambiance-making skilz that I had to get started without him.


Sorry baby. Next time, I'll wait for you.