Summer is crazy here on Cape Cod. School is out, the tourists outnumber us locals by three to one, and most of them seem to be directionally challenged. It's hot, the grass I spent all spring re-seeding is burnt to a crisp, and my kids think I am their personal chauffeur and ATM Machine. My black lab has taken up residence on the only AC vent near my writing desk, and I've been staring at three unfinished manuscripts for the better part of a week and haven't dug into a single one of them. So, at my husband's suggestion to "go out and doing something to get rid of your crankiness" I signed up to take a class. No, it's not a writing course or even a cooking class (much to my husband's dismay). Nope, tonight at exactly 6:45pm, me and ten other women are going to learn how to belly dance.
As any good wife in desperate need of child care would do, I sweetly informed my husband that I had plans tonight, told him he was stuck with the kids every Wednesday night for the next 6 weeks. He asked why, and I told him, laughed as he face screwed up in disbelief. His expression smoothed out, and he asked what was in it for him. My response . . . a simple "It depends how good I am!"
Ohh, and do any of you know how much food two teenagers can consume in a given day when they don't have school to keep them away from the refrigerator. Holy Crap! And yes the cost of milk, eggs, and bread is higher here in the summer . . . got to gouge the tourists and locals alike, apparently!
So enough complaining. I am off to tackle fun, non-cranky activities!