I took my first ever trip to Connecticut this week.
The details are prosaic. Most notable: For a three hour meeting we were on nine hours worth of trains and in probably an hour plus worth of cabs.
What I'm saying is this. Connecticut is inconvenient.
And I have a cold.
We missed the Acela on the way home because of a very slow talker, and then I had a bizarro cab driver who didn't help me with my bag, kept telling my I was lucky my wait at Union Station wasn't long, and seemed intent on missing every light.
Basically, I was a bitchfaced crab by the time I got home last night.
But the point I was going to make was this. Nick was going to blog for me yesterday and I was disappointed that he didn't. Because I never have any idea what he's going to say. Plus I love reading what he decides to share.
We ran into friends a couple weeks ago in front of Bistrot du Coin. Randomly, the last time I'd eaten there was with the husband of the couple.
(Clarification: the couple does not have a husband. It is a husband and wife couple, and I like them both, but know the husband better. And before either of us were married, he and I used to have dinner and catch up every once in a while.)
We ran into them, and I was wearing the underwear dance party boots, which they recognized from my post.
They asked Nick if he reads my blog, and he said, "I'm her husband."
To which they replied, "That doesn't answer the question."
"Of course I read it. It helps me know what's really going on in our house and in our relationship."