My husband has left me and I’m okay with it.
He’s away on a business trip for three nights and four days …in Italy. Now, some women might be jealous and others might be resentful. Some, after holding down the suburban fort and being a single parent for the better part of a week, might expect payback in the form of Prada or Gucci. Not me. I like being home. Let me be more specific. I like being home without Harris.
It’s not that I don’t love Harris and treasure every moment that we have together, I do. It’s just that I like it when he leaves, too. When he’s gone, I admit that I feel a certain freedom. I can eat all the stuff that he hates (green curry, blue cheese and black bean soup), watch the all of the chick flicks that he won’t rent (The Notebook, Baby Mama and anything with Clive Owen) and make coffee that’s really, really strong – not only because I need the extra caffeine to fuel my jam-packed single parenting days, but because that’s how I like it.
Maybe it’s the coffee, but when Harris is away, I get a lot of stuff done – especially the stuff that, if he were here, would require discussion. The last time he went away, I redid the bedroom.