The Raft

I just finished painting the moldings I purchased at Home Depot last week.
48 feet of pre-primed clamshell. Pulled 'em down, 16 feet at a time, put 'em on that 4-wheeled cart, cut those fuckers in half on the un-patrolled table saw and brought them up to self-check-out. Okay, I couldn't ring them out myself but pretty impressive, eh? Then, I loaded them up, in my 'Bu. Drove them home, pulled the saw-horses down off the garage wall and laid them across with a tarp underneath and then went to a cocktail party. I managed all of that in less than 3 hours. Including the cocktail party.
Then, tonight, there I was, in the garage, drinking a beer (Adirondack Rootbeer) and painting my moldings. And was I saying "wow, check me out, I don't need a man!"?
No.

I went to the dump and unloaded 1000 square feet of carpet and pads. 2 days later, I unloaded a full truck bed of household garbage and recycling.
Was I all "yo! I am woman, hear me roar!"?
Nope.

I got into my bed last night at around 11pm, after 2 nights on the couch while my houseguests used my Master Bedroom as a hotel. I expected I would sleep like a log. I was very tired and I missed my bed a lot over the weekend.
I didn't. I tossed, turned, got woken up by a thirsty dog, woke up to pee and then wandered around the house making sure we were properly locked up. Then, promptly at 6:30am, my daughter hopped into my bed demanding to watch television while I go make her some warm milk.

My point?
I miss my husband.
I miss the man of the house.
I miss the part of my bed that keeps my cold ass and feet warm.

16 Nights Down, 4 to go...