I read an article a few weeks ago about four women who went on a ladies' only vacation...no husband, no kids, no dogs.
It sounded wonderful from beginning to end until I realized the author of the article forgot to tell "the rest of the story."
In reality this is the way the whole thing probably went...
Wife comes home and tells husband that she and her three friends had a lovely hour long lunch and decided that they are going to use their vacation time to go to the mounts for a week of pure luxury. All he has to do that week is keep the house in running order, the children bathed, clothed and fed and taken to school on time every morning and to violin practice, cheerleader practice, football games and make sure their homework was done every night. Oh, and he should keep the check book in perfect balance and don't forget the dog likes that new food that's only available at the vet and be sure to scoop the kitty litter once a day.
Then she tells her children, "Mommy is going away for a week with her friends. Daddy is going to take care of you while I'm gone and you will have some quality bonding time with him."
Husband thinks that she's crazy. Who would want to go on a trip with three gossiping, whining women when she could wait until summer and take a real vacation to an amusement park. But if she's got her mind set then he'll show her that the Superman cape fits him even better than that Superwoman cape she's always bragging about wearing. He'll show her that she's not even missed.
"Don't call me when you are five hundred miles down the road and have a flat tire or when you are homesick for the kids," he says emphatically.
She packs her favorite sneakers and hot tub attire in her suitcase and leaves her kids, dog, cat, husband and guilty conscience all at home.
Through the week she shops as long as she wants--no husband standing breathing down her neck and checking his watch every three seconds or kids tugging on her coattails, whining about how long they had to stay in this store and when could they go to the toy store.
She eats what she wants and where she wants. She might have a candy bar and a diet cola while she soaks I the hot tub and reads a trashy novel. Or she might have spinach quiche or marinated vegetables and chicken breasts smothered in mushrooms in a little café with dripping candles on the table.
She does not think about hot dogs with chili at the fast food place, kid's lunches or homework all week. At the end of which, she walks in the door of her home, rested and revived.
And that's where the rest of the story comes into play.
She gags as she drops her suitcase in the living room floor. When she locates the horrid smell, it's just an overflowing trash can that has not been emptied in a week. The checkbook is lying on the table and a quick glance says that she will have to hock the dog, the cat and half the kids to get it out of the red. The children look like someone rescued them from the inside of a dumpster but they declare that Daddy made them take at least one bath that week. Laundry is knee deep to a tall Swede and she needs a scoop shovel to start cleaning house.
And how did every dish in the house get dirty when the family ate burgers and fries at the Dairy Dip every night? The dog is anorexic and the cat stopped using the litter pan and has started digging holes in the tropical plant pot.
Now that is the real story and I bet dollars to cow patties there was never a follow up story about those four friends going on a second vacation together.
The amusement park never looked so good!