The Amazing Husbandini thinks I’m nuts. He can’t see any reason why I wouldn’t be handing out flyers and telling strangers on the street about the fact that I have some of my artwork hanging up in a gallery. He doesn’t seem to care that it’s just a community gallery that pretty much anybody can get stuff into. He doesn’t think that standing around and showing off my artwork, in person, to a bunch of people I know and like and will have to see on a regular basis after they get a first-hand look at my paintings should be any problem at all. Explain to me how I married such a weirdo?
Well, he may not understand any of those things, but he does understand that I’’m nervous and that I’d really just rather hide under the bed with the cat, thank you very much. So he’ll say nice things to me and make me get dressed and put on my face and drink down a couple of glasses of wine, and then he’ll pile me into the car and drive me to the gallery and hold my hand through the whole thing. And he’s promised to beat up anyone who says anything not-nice about my stuff in my hearing.
Ah yes…that’s the kind of stuff that made me marry him.
It’s November, damn it. Shouldn’t the butterflies in my stomach have flown south for the winter or something?
More later, unless something horrible happens and I spend the rest of the year under the bed with the dust bunnies and discarded catnip mice.