So here’s the thing about spending the odd evening on your own.
It is sometimes fun, because you get to do things like try out bizarre beauty products (that is a décolletage mask) that you might try out if your husband was there…but also might not, as it might occur to you that keeping a little mystery alive is possibly a good thing.
And then you might realize that you have a blog upon which you will probably post the mystery-destroying photograph anyway, and send it to your husband via email with the subject line “This is what I do when you’re gone.”
Being on your own is sometimes less fun when it is pitch-black outside and you hear an enormous crash and go outside to investigate with a flashlight despite the fact that your intensive Wes Craven-based research has taught you that going outside to investigate with a flashlight is not what the blonde girl should do ever ever ever, and briefly debate hitting the alarm and letting the nice young men from ADT deal with it…and then discover a raccoon approximately the size of an SUV perched on your garbage can, eating overripe fruit and staring at you with glowy TAKE THIS BANANA AND I KILL YOU eyes.
But then maybe you totally succeed in scaring off the raccoon by waving your flashlight at it in what you hope is an intimidating manner and pull together enough bravery to go back out into your dark driveway to scoop up the garbage while wearing plastic bags as mittens (because you may be brave, but you’re still not going into the basement in search of actual plastic gloves; one large, terrifying creature per evening is good, thanks).
Oh yes: and then perhaps you just go ahead and rustle up some bungee cords (seriously, who made me a genius with the foresight to own those?) and strap that garbage can lid down within an inch of its life.
Like a WOMAN OF THE WOODS.
