I’ll have you know that I am presently binge eating Cheerios and looking at a magazine to soothe myself.
It all started yesterday at ballet class.
My friend and I were chatting about homeschooling, fake eyelashes and making homemade moonshine. You know, just the normal girl stuff, when she casually mentioned that her husband is letting her pick an island, ANY ISLAND, in which to move in Asia, the South Pacific or Australia for three years.
Can you imagine?
Can you imagine your husband walking in the door after a long work week and saying “Golly honey, I want to have a new adventure with you and the kids. I got a promotion that will allow me to travel and work in Asia/Oceana. You pick the island destination and that’s where we’ll go. I’m so in love with you Sugar Lips.”
So my friend is batting around the idea of Singapore, Tahiti, or Australia. Or, she said, “we can just island hop every 6 months.”
Then I died and was buried in bleach spotted Yoga pants and unwashed hair.
I know for a fact Mr. Johnson will never utter those words. Never once will he say, “You know I’ve been thinking Honey Lump, Tahiti looks nice this time of year. What do you say, babe, shall we island hop for a week?” It grieves him to leave the county in which we live to go to the grocery store.
We have passports that have never been used.
After I picked my jaw up off the ground the envy set in. Full blown, I-hate-where-I-live-I-want-something-new-something-exciting-something-bold-to-happen-in-my-life-just-like her ENVY.
I couldn’t stop it. I tried battling the envy but that made the envy very excited and it began to breed bitterness. By the time Mr. Johnson arrived at home I was Mt. Vesuvius ready to detonate.
So I went to the gym to run it off.
Where due to a series of VERY embarrassing and unfortunate events (involving a flying I-pod, see trough shirt and an inadequate exercise bra) my run was cut short and I went to sulk in the sauna until the trauma of the situation wore off and the people who had witnessed my decent into indecency had left the building.
By the time I came back to Johnson Ranch 3 hours later I was in my right mind again.
Until this afternoon.
It happened again.
At ballet class.
Damn ballet class is ruining my life.
I was chatting with some other homeschoolers while one of them shares she’s going to Australia with her hubby and kids on an open-ended ticket next week.
She could be back in 6 months or a year or more. She doesn’t know yet. “Whenever the adventure stops being fun and we miss cold weather.”
Then I pulled her hair, broke every one of her manicured nails, keyed her minivan and told her “those jeans make you look fat.”
I didn’t, but I wanted to. I’m so mature.
Which leads me to my Cheerios binge and looking at a Victoria’s Secret catalogue not for the clothing but for the backdrops behind the models.
Where ever they are there is no snow on the ground, the temps are well above 75 degrees and the sun is shining on clear blue ocean waves lapping the white sand beaches.
I’m going to get more rice milk.