Oh dear. Christmas is coming. I know this because, unnervingly, Next have started displaying their horrid 'festive' jumpers in the window of the shop near my workplace.
With Christmas comes a logistical nightmare. On the plus side, the holiday season is the only time when I get to take time off from my horrendous job and chill the hell out (blood preasure is a bit ridculous at the moment - fear I may burst before December even gets here). On the minus side, my husbamd does exactly the same thing.
Guess what this means? No no, it doesn't mesn that (rude!). It means NO JAMES. FOR 3 WEEKS.
It's not that I won't be getting a regular dose of How's-Your-Father. Hubby had a little revelation a few weeks ago with a little pill, and now it seems he can't leave me alone (I would like to add that this is not always a good thing. Especially when you've just got home from work, and all you want to do is watch House and eat chinesse).
But it does mean that the quality of Hows-Your-Father I will be getting will be significantly decreased. Instead a making occasional love with a strong, statuest stalion who can lift me with one of his arms tied behind his back, I will be stuck with a podgy little bald man, plagued by an almost-perminent errection.
Might. Go. Mad. James and I will be in touch via most electronic mediums, but that is no substitue for the real thing. Plus, I don't want to keep sneaking off to make phone calls, since the hubster will be around pretty much all of the time. No desire to arouse suspicion.
I am preparing myself for this drought by seeing James as much as possible before the festive End of Days. This, in hindsight, probably isn't the best idea, since my withdrawal symptoms will probably be much worse as a result, but who cares? For the minute, I am letting the good times roll.
This evening, J is taking me for dinner. And if I'm lucky, I might get a quick grope in the fire escape.
Sometimes I sound so sophisticated, I scare myself.