Stupidity, continued.

The conclusion of my fit-throwing departure-turned-fear of husband’s wrath of Wednesday night:  I was wrapping up the writing of that post as I heard dearest’s footsteps coming down the stairs, 4:45 am- time for the gym.  I braced myself for the worst.  “Are you still writing?”  was his first question.  I told him that I had slept for a few hours and was awakened by my incessant thoughts and came down to write about it.  We chatted a bit, as I nervously waited for the bomb to drop.  No bomb.  “I came back about 12:30 and you were conked out,” I said.  “Came back?” he said, “You left?”

He didn’t even know I was gone.

Boy, do I feel stupid.

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