My wife has been in Spain for the past three weeks.
Ooo, you might say to yourself. Ooo, Spain. Well! What a terrible wife, not to take her lonesome husband to the beautiful & ancient old country, to visit its beautiful beaches, its museums, to partake of its culture, its sangria, its siestas in the hot, dry summer!
It's okay - she's not really a terrible wife - she's actually there to work. She's spent the past few days holed up in what I can only assume is a refurbished Inquisition-era torture room dissecting animals for her next big scientific paper. She's an anthropologist, you see. She's told me things about the animals she's cut up that would've led to divorce papers from a weaker spouse.
I do throw up all the time when she talks about her work, though.
She comes back tomorrow. So I've been working on Saturday's show all day today so I could spend maximum time with her tomorrow. There! You thought I wasn't a crazy romantic fool. But you were wrong!
Update: just got a text from her. It just says "plastered." It's after midnight in Valladolid. She's having way more fun than I am, that's for sure.
No comments:
Post a Comment