I left the office at 1:30 today, concealing neither the shit-eating grin on my face nor the spastic dance of joy I did in front of a co-worker's cubicle.
Just now I walked, bra-less, into my kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Glancing at the contents I selected the ice-cold IPA on the second shelf, flicked it open, and took a long swig.
What the hell, I said out loud to myself. It's after four o'clock...and I'm on fucking VACATION.
D$ and I leave tomorrow for a camp wedding (I'll be b-maiding it up) and then a week - a full fucking week - by ourselves. In a cabin. On an island in the ocean.
Thank you, universe, for being so kind to me. Thank you, Self, for scheduling this vacation those long months ago. You knew I'd need it, and you were right.