Even though the suit debacle is finally over, I still kind of need some stress relief. Probably lingering effects from all that shopping. I took a muscle relaxer a couple of nights last week, and they helped a little, but I donâ€™t really like to pop extraneous pills every night (Iâ€™m so happy to be down to only one regular night-time med â€“ now if we could just do something about that epilepsyâ€¦). Of course, the next step in muscle relaxation is finding a massage therapist here. Ugh, I hate finding massage therapists. Iâ€™ve had two great ones, and Iâ€™m always afraid that no one will match up to Mary (whom I once threatened to kidnap so I could take her with me when I moved) and now Vicky (my excellent Florida therapist).
In Florida, Frank used to help when my muscles were sore by bringing me a flower delivery from Publix. Alas, there is no Publix here, and I did love their flowers. I have yet to check out the flowers at the stores we do have nearby to see if they match up. But for now, I think the man should check out the online florist and find me something pretty.
Of course, my shopping-related muscle aches and all-around moodiness are not the only reason my hubby should send flowers to his sweetie. Beside the dismal results from yesterday’s big primary (seriously, do these primary voters do the slightest amount of research into their candidates, or do they just go for the guy who talks the prettiest and the one who screws over the party the most?), there was a little incident with the laundry this morning. I promised I wouldnâ€™t hold a grudge over it, because he apologized (as he always does for the same offense), but Iâ€™m thinking I deserve them anyway. See, we donâ€™t have an ironing board (gave it away before we moved, and I havenâ€™t bought a new one yet), so I make sure to get the laundry out of the dryer and fold it or hang it right away. But Frank decided he was going to do some laundry (that part was nice), and he started with the delicates, which, you know, took a good twenty minutes of coaching. And then he washed his socks next, and when I went to get some undies from the folded laundry basket this morning, I noticed that heâ€™d just thrown the delicates in a big, wadded pile on top of the folded laundry. As wrinkled as bathtub toes. Rarr. I spent a little time this morning reminding him that heâ€™s an adult now. :-) But I’m not mad anymore, so technically that’s not a grudge, right?