If there’s anything I am enjoying about being separated, it’s the silence. Yes, we still speak because we need to communicate about The Mook. However, I don’t have to listen to the grand-master plans or the whining or the yapping, yapping, yapping about himself, himself, himself.
The Mook shit on the bedroom floor on Wednesday night. In several places. Then walked thru it. (We were enjoying naked time.) So, into the bathroom to get her clean (keeping in mind she’d just gotten out of the bath), handing her some wipes to keep her hands busy.