When my husband called me late Saturday afternoon to tell me he was leaving in a few hours, I did what every wife who's been without her husband would do.
I called a maid and I got an appointment to get my carpets taken care of this week.
Actually, I'd love to say that my husband would care about the shape of my personal carpet, but honestly, when you've been away from a vagina for a couple of months, you don't care so much how it's decorated.
But my living room rug? Damn straight he'd be worried about the state of that poor thing.
And so when I heard a knock on my door on Monday afternoon, the thought that perhaps it was my husband, the guy who looooooves to scare the shit out of me by coming home early from trips was at the door passed through my head.
Alas, it was a Hartford Life Insurance sales woman.
I was hoping that wasn't a sign of something.
But then a few minutes later, I heard the lock being rattled and in he walked.
It didn't matter that the house was a mess, or that the carpets (yes, both of them) were untreated, or that there was no welcome home banner or meal or thong.
Just my extra made-up CNN face. And a few ridiculously excited children.
He's still getting over jet lag and "holy shit Margot's a toddler now" lag.
But when he commented how dirty the toilets were after being home for only a few hours, I knew everything was going to be just fine.
Oh honey, how we missed you. Welcome home.