My Life in Numbers

49, 62, 17, 33, 2,555.


These numbers kept floating through my brain while I sat yoga style on Taff's couch finishing off my chardonnay. Second bottle.  I picked lint off of my new yoga pants (thank you, Lulu Lemon), prayed to Shaun T. the purchase of said pants would motivate me to exercise once I got back to the MFI and listened to Max explain the bouquet to "dude who always mooches their wine".  Taffi rolled her eyes and then continued conversation with the rest of us. 

I'd dropped Grey with my mother-in-law for his summer break and was camped at Max and Taffi's house for my final evening back in civilization. I'd spent 17 days here while Jameson remained on the island studying. Grey and I had shopped, visited the family lake house in Cheney and been to our storage unit so many times I'd lost count. 

"Real question. Channing Tatum or Christian Grey?" Taff's friend Angela asked, her eyes brightening at the potential discussion.

Which earned the following from her husband, "Are we really doing this?  Here? If we are, I'm going outside to light up my Jocko." To prove a point, he uncrossed his legs and adjusted himself in front of God and everyone.

"Babe, when you tell people you're going to 'light up your Jocko' (fingers with quotes), it doesn't give the best impression," Angela fired back.

"Such dirty minds, ladies," Jeff replied while bobbing his eyebrows up and down.

Groans from all the women had the guys single filing out the sliding glass door to smoke cigars at the fire pit.

"What's your deal, beezy?" Taff asked me.  "You've been quiet all night. Depressed about leaving your new Lou's behind?"

Oh yeah.  I'd been so distraught about leaving the cushy convenience of home I'd splurged on some Louboutin black patent slingbacks. Where did I think I was going to wear those on the MFI? To the marche to buy wilted lettuce and "fresh" pesto that was 24 hours from expiring?  Not my best choice.

Mental Checklist:  allow Taffi to "store" my Lou's while back on the MFI. Consider getting a remote alarm to notify me if the box opens.

I set my wine glass on the table, twisted my hair up in a dirty bun and began my breakdown (not to be confused with beat boxing).

"Do you know that I haven't had a night alone with my Ja for months?  Let me make this clear. It's been 49 days since we've gone on a date."

Crickets.  Then, glass clinking while my knitting bee filled up on more wine. Angela looked especially horrified and I knew she was thinking of her Christian Grey fetish.  Who was I kidding? I'd spent more time with Christian in the past few months than I had with my husband.  Taff nodded so I continued.

"So. Anyway.  Uh, it's been forever since we've gone on a date. Since Mother's Day actually."

"Oooh, what did you get for Mom's Day? You and McHotness in scrubs doing the nasty?" Kim, Taffi's neighbor who was obsessed with 'Grey's Anatomy', asked. Looking at her I wondered why we hadn't dubbed her "chic who talks porn about Patrick Dempsey".

"Kindle Fire. Love it. Not discussing my sex life with you boneheads. Should I go on?"

Everyone nodded so I continued my breakdown. 49 days since we'd gone on a date, 62 days on the island this last time, back in the States for 17 days of glorious convenience, 33 more days would be spent in lukewarm bath water weather battling mosquitoes and horrid traffic before returning to the States and the icing on the cake: 2, 555 days until the short sale of the house dropped off my credit report.

"Daaaamn, beezy! I had no idea you were so blue. I know what can make this better. Ladies - road trip."

With that, Taffi set down her wine glass, collected her new Coach hobo bag (read as me being extremely jealous) and we all made way to the SUV for a trip to Krispy Kreme.