So, is it wrong that the best part of my vacation was the week I was home alone while my family went on vacation without me? Thanks to my new job, I couldn't take advantage of the full two weeks of our annual Cape Cod extravaganza, so after I gleefully dropped off my husband and son, I high-tailed it back to my peaceful sanctuary for a week of whatever I wanted to do. Not that I don't enjoy endless days of hanging out (and I use that term literally) on the beach, shopping at the same stores, and eating at the same restaurants that I've frequented for the past 4 million years, but truly (cue: Lionel Ritchie song) there was something way more appealing about being home for almost an entire week with no obligation to cook, clean, watch stupid TV, or perform any other wifely duties.
Not that I did anything particularly exciting, but I did catch a glimpse of my former self. Or, the former self that I wish I had been...or at least had been for a few more years before I went down the rabbit hole (or into the Pit of Dispair, depending upon the day). It's just fun to hang out with friends, enjoy a great meal that you know no one in your house would ever try or enjoy, laugh a lot, and remember what it means to completely relax. It was truly (don't forget Lionel here as well) a week-long Happy Place. Yippee for me to have the chance to be "single" for even a short amount of time. It was a wicked-pissah time and is now my new annual vacation spot.
