The reality is....

Yes, that was me in Amish country where everything is supposed to be ‘plain’ flying down the road in a fucking bright ass red convertible. I didn’t have any choice in the color people, and if you don’t like country crafts (like me) then there ain’t shit else to do but drive around with the top down smelling all the lovely smells of farm country.

BTW, when riding in a convertible, if you have curly ass hair, make sure that the 'fro is dry before getting in the car or you will look like a crazy person by the time you reach your destination. And your husband with his straight hair will look all cool and windblown and may not want to sit with buckwheat at the restaurant.

Ralph and I had a lot of fun doing nothing, and if I had his phone right now I’d even show you the pictures.

We had a nice couples’ massage. At first, Ralph was pissed because the male masseuse was going to do my massage and he didn’t think that a chick could have the hands to give him a good massage. After the masseuses left the room, Ralph says, “Paula put a hurtin’ on meeee.” That’s what you get for underestimating a girl, Ralph.

As for my massage, I realized something about myself halfway through. Every time I get a massage (which is not nearly often enough) there is a point in the middle, when I am face down with my face in that little catcher’s mitt, that I am totally relaxed, and then become completely tense with the realization that I am totally fucking drooling. I swear that I sucked up a spit stream that was long enough to be pooling on the floor. Then I wonder if the masseuse saw said spit string? did I drool on the poor guys shoes? Oh well, just suck up your spit and enjoy it. Because that big noisy toot that I had after the massage was over, you know, the one that made Ralph fall on the ground laughing…I’m sure that was the masseuse’s way of getting back at me for spitting on his shoes.

Soon enough it was back to reality, we traded the speedy little convertible for the grocery getter mommy mobile with its fucking check engine light on…didn’t I just have $500 worth of work done on that fucking car.

Then there was The Bug, who, after 2 days of not seeing his father and me, was so nonplused that he barely looked up from his lunch when we walked in the room. Oh well, at least he didn’t run to see Ralph. That would have really pissed me off.

So, this morning, instead of waking to room service, I woke to Mommy Out! Out! Out! and a diaper full of shit. But I gave The Bug an extra little squeeze, because the reality is that all of the convertibles and massages in the world don't compare to one hug from my little bug.