My husband, whom I normally refer to as my beloved husband when speaking or writing about him (sarcastic font), is driving me crazy.  He is on a business trip to Sedona, Arizona, a trip originally proposed with me tagging along.  I SO wanted to go.  However, work intervened and my availability was removed, and I could not go.  Which, from my point of view was a bummer.  BIG bummer.  BIG, BIG bummer.  So, he packed up and flew out on Tuesday.  Into a pretty and cool world of the Arizona red rocks.   That night he called to check in, telling me how great the spa style hotel was and how big the soaking tub in his room was.  Blah, Blah, Blah.

Then on Wednesday, he called to check in, telling me how great the weather was, how lovely the view was, how great the scenery was, and followed up with pictures.

View of a Sedona Rock

Really?  I’m at work each day, dealing with, well, stuff, and he’s …well, vacationing.  His check in yesterday was all about taking a drive on one of the most scenic routes available up to Flagstaff  (“gorgeous, just gorgeous”)  and enjoying the evening air on the drive back.  I’m glad he is enjoying himself, but does he have to torture me with his good fortune in the process?  Dude, stop it!