In search of the BIG ONE

I heart Seth Aaron

My husband left this morning to spend a week in Alaska, fishing for the BIG ONE. While this would not exactly be my idea of a fun vacation, he is as excited about this adventure as I would be, if, say, Seth Aaron called and asked me to fly to Milan with him for fashion week. And that? Means really, really, really excited.

Under the guise of someone needing to cover his work commitments, he forwarded his phone calls to his secretary. Which means he has a cell phone, but I can't call it. If I call it, his secretary, here in town, will answer it. Tim can call me. But I can't call him. Frankly, I find this quite unacceptable. Also, wherein *under the guise* = he basically told me, neener, neener, you can't call me as he did the dance of sweet freedom.

What if there is an emergency? What if I can't find the checkbook (already happened)? What if I need to know what that song was that we both said we wanted to download from iTunes (already happened)? What if he forgot to take out the garbage and recycling before he left and I want to let him know that he forgot (already happened)?

Do you see what I mean? Unacceptable.

Last night I told my husband that I would miss him while he was gone for a week. Like, really, really miss him. Like, miss him so much, I probably need some kind of distraction to keep myself busy while he's gone. He thought that it was sweet, the fact that I would miss him, because he doesn't plan on missing me. At all. Let's set that aside for the moment, though.

At the heart of this conversation is the fact that he didn't tell me NOT to buy an iPad to distract myself from my lonliness. Which basically means that he probably WANTS me to go out and buy an iPad in his absence. Right?

I'd call and ask him, but, yeah, that whole phone thing.

I also heart the iPad. Plus? I would totally read the NYT, like, every day, if I had an iPad, and not read, like, James Patterson and Janet Evanovich novels. At all.