A Good Old-Fashioned Pity Party

Yep, I'm havin' one tonight.

Why? Because this was supposed to have been an Official Girls' Weekend. Not the little girls - the mommies-who-want-to-revert-to-silly-and-carefree-girls-for-48-precious-hours. I was supposed to be here this weekend, enjoying this spa and this shopping with some great girlfriends.

Ah, the best laid plans - so often thrown awry by my dear (and I use that term ever so loosely in this instance) King. Unfortunately, my long-planned Official Girls' Weekend coincided with his last weekend at a job that's been great to him for the past 13 years, but has made six- and seven-day weeks, with weekends a given for working, the norm.

He's found another great job with a great company that (gasp!) has normal working hours. (Note: the adjustment by all of us to this "normal" schedule will no doubt result in some...ahem...amusing posts over the next few weeks. [i.e. AAGGHH! He's at home on the weekends; now what the heck do we do with him?]) But, before he starts this great new job, his old one had to get one more weekend (i.e. pound of flesh) out of him. Which meant that my Official Girls' Weekend went out the freakin' window.

So, my friends are whoopin' it up in the Big B, enjoying spa treatments, bargain-hunting and meals without cutting up someone else's food. And I'm here. At home. Negotiating the Princesses' latest battle over who gets to sing what part in which Hannah Montana song and cleaning up the dog's latest "I'm ticked 'cause you didn't feed me exactly at 8 p.m. so I'm gonna poop in your office" present. (Side note: Why didn't one of you take pity on me and send me earplugs - or a new, non-deranged dog - for Christmas? Yeah, I see how you are. Ungrateful lurkers.)

Once I got the Princesses to declare a bedtime truce and threw the dog out into the street (oh, I'm kidding. I let him back in after a few hours.), I totally indulged my pity party with a hot bath, a viewing of "Dr. Zhivago" and as many M&Ms as I could suck in. Do I feel better? A little. Do I feel fatter? Definitely. Am I going to make sure the King has the next Official Girls' Weekend on his calendar in blood (whose blood is TBD)? Oh yeah.