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The Bang Bang Theories

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

This evening found me in a bit of a dilly of a pickle, Reader.   You see, My Mister had to work and I was home from Tiny Town at a somewhat reasonable hour, with the evening sprawled out in front of me. 

Now, I almost – almost – slipped right into my pajamas, but then decided that was really just giving up completely and it was only 6:30. That’s 6:30 p.m., in the Midwest, in January, right after the ArcticFreezeHole that swept across the county and froze us right up into our holes, so technically pajamas make perfectly good sense at that hour. 

But, while I knew my evening was going to pretty much involve the porn couch, bad telly shows, and a delicious plate of my crock potted BBQ chicken, which, by the way, a crock pot is almost like having a wife at home, if it could only serve me a martini when I walked in the door, I pretended I was going to do something productive with the evening unfurled at my feet. 

So I put on my track pants and exercise bra instead of my pajamas and then sat down to watch telly and eat my dinner all in the nice quiet cozy house by myself, all the while telling myself I was getting up and cleaning and exercising as soon as I was done with the dinner my Crockpot Wife cooked for me. 

Then I was done with dinner and decided to take a little rest, to digest, you know – for the good of my health. 

Then the next thing I knew, it was 8:10 and Juan Pablo the Bachelor was leaping out of my 80″ telly and practically sitting on my track-panted lap in the living room, and we gazed into each others eyes and knew – we just knew – that we would be spending the next two hours together. 

I am not a watcher of The Bachelor, Reader. I will watch a lot of stuff – hours upon hours of mindless nonsense – but The Bachelor has never been on my agenda since the first couple of seasons, which was a long long time ago. All the way back to the Trista & Ryan love match, which I learned tonight was ten years ago, so yeah, I’ve been out of the loop a long time. 

Juan Pablo and I fell a little bit in love this evening. And then My Mister came home and interrupted our date. 

He joined me on the porn couch and suffered through a few crying and hysterical girls, before proclaiming he just couldn’t watch it and got up to stomp into the next room, proclaiming he’d rather watch Honey Boo Boo than Juan Pablo sort through a room full of super-pussy.  

Unfortunately for My Mister, I told him to get used to his new Monday night line-up, because I need to follow my boyfriend Juan Pablo on our journey to find him a Crockpot Wife. Er, a just a wife. Something.

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