As of last Monday, the legendary Hot Comma Momma has returned.
A more conscientious and emotionally non-involved writer would definitely have found time to document this momentous event long before now.
Unfortunately, he is currently tied up in jury duty, which leaves the fearsome responsibility of accurately relaying this narrative in the hands of a clearly preoccupied journalistic slacker like myself.
This honor is humbling and a little intimidating, but I will do my best not to screw it up too badly.
Camille came bearing coffee, which is the truest route to a man’s heart, assuming that the organ in question is located in my chest.
Since her return happiness abounds:
- I am happy to have her back.1
- The kids are happy to have their cuisine no longer limited to frozen entrees.2
- The guys I manage at work are happy that I am no longer insane.3
Clearly, this is a win/win/win situation for everyone, except of course for the forces of depression which have suffered a critical setback with the untimely reappearance of her Royal Hotfulness.
Though I am certain that even now those dark thoughts are marshaling their forces for a second assault, they really don’t stand a chance in light of the radiating luminance and super-sized happy thoughts inspired and emitted by the presence of the Hot Comma Momma.
Life is good once again.
- I am also pleased to have her front and both sides as well. A spouse’s return is no place for an installment plan. ↩
- This statement has been found by the state of Tennessee to contain significant amounts of hyperbole. Thanks to Roann Mathias and to Glenn Harris for their contributions to the Ominous Offspring Nutritional Support Program. It was all quite delicious. ↩
- Sanity is of course, is a relative state. A more accurate statement would have been that those employees that report directly to me are pleased that my mental state now enjoys a greater proximity to “sane” than it did during my wife’s long absence. ↩