My husband got back last night, a bit later than I'd expected him. (His luggage was the last to be put on the carousel, so he had to wait for it.) When the garage door opened, I rushed to the door to greet him. The cat also rushed to the door. Both of us had missed him so much that we were probably equally eager to see him.
He was also glad to be home. That's something that holds true for most people: The best thing about going away on a trip is getting home. Now we have a precious few days before I have to be out of town all of next week. Of course, despite all that, he's playing golf tomorrow with the man he's just been hanging out with for the last several days from morning till night. I have to admit that disappointed me. I thought for sure he'd omit the golf this week since I was going to be gone all next week. Oh, well. The lure of golf is apparently as strong as an addiction. Sometimes I think he'd play golf in Hell with Satan himself as long as he could be playing golf somewhere, with someone.
We both slept well last night, and I needed that sleep. While he's gone, I don't sleep as soundly as I do when he's at home.
Nothing to do now but hope for rain. One of the weather reports has predicted rain tonight and tomorrow morning. Not that a little rain would put a stop to a golf outing. As long as there were no thunder and lightning, he'd be out there. But I can always hope for a huge downpour, can't I? Maybe I should practice my rain dance.
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