Dear Diary, --I have just killed my husband.

Here is to the dearly departed. Don was laying partially hanging off of the sofa trying to catch is breath and holding his man bits. I did my best to stifle a laugh as I padded over to the wet bar for a bottle of water. When I returned to the couch Don’s eyes were closed as if was still lost in what occurred 3 minutes ago. I placed the frosty plastic bottle of water against his stomach just to watch his muscles contract, he still didn’t open his eyes but gestured for me to get closer to him. When I did, he pulled me in for a kiss and patted the couch next to him, I laid down next to him stretching myself along side his unusually warm body…

Four hours earlier our home was unrecognizable it was crammed with so many bodies celebrating Jane’s and Pricilla’s pending bundle of joy… Don kept asking me if I invited certain people—annoyed I finally yelled “I know five-fucking people in San Francisco—who the hell did you think I invited.” I immediately felt bad, people were setting those red plastic cups on his antiques. Hell I don’t even know where the red plastic cups came from. They weren’t here when the party started.

The caterer had set out real glassware and enough food for 50 people to have 2.5 servings, whatever the hell that meant. The house groaned with the weight of had to be close to 100 people—obviously someone had blabbed several of my regulars at the Pussy had already said hello or waved from a distance. I didn’t notice, I was too busy trying to make sure no one stole anything—Jesus what the hell I have I turned into. I took a swig of the Diet Coke I had switched to when I realized how quickly things could get out of hand—someone please call the damn cops. Don had taken the other route and was drinking more, I watched him to another shot from across the room, the short burst of elation left his face soon after the alcohol was down his throat. I thought he was going to be sick until I saw him start to scan the room, he was looking for me. I was just behind a door way peering around, not because I was trying to be sneaky but because I could see two rooms at once this way.

He didn’t panic when he didn’t see me but he looked ill. What was I doing to him? I 'm not sure I made him happy, in fact I am fairly certain I scared the shit out of him. He was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop and it was starting to show, his weight was dropping. What do I do, make his fears come to fruition and bounce or do I reassure him? I wasn’t sure how to do that so I crossed the room to him and embraced him, I whispered that we needed to end the party—it was midnight and it would take at least an hour to get rid of all these people.

I knew from working in bars that it was a process. I turned the lights up just a little at first, turned the music down and slowly started to walk around cleaning up—Don, Jane and Pricilla followed my lead. By 1:30 we had the place to ourselves again and a big mess to clean up. I spotted a piece of Don’s Wedgwood teetering on the edge of table, I nudged it back onto the table hoping he didn’t spot his $50 dollar plate about to be obliterated. Who knew what else those maniacs got into.

Don was settling on the couch about to turn on the TV he motioned for me to join him and I panicked. I turned heading for the cellar to take count of the bottles.

“It’s ok, just sit.”

He reached out as if he was going to change the channel on the TV instead he threw the remote on the floor and jumped me. It took me nearly five minutes to stop laughing, he refused to give up though….

Dylan was at the other parents for one more evening and as much as I was enjoying my time with Don, I missed the nugget. I fell asleep next to Don ticking off the hours in my brain until James would bring him home.