New Year's Dud

New Years was pretty dud-ish for me this year. I made reservations for an extravagant dinner and entertainment at the Jerusalem Hotel. But I had to cancel. Hubby was in his favorite character for the New Year - Prehistoric Caveman. He didn't come out that evening, except to complain bitterly that he'd rather spend the rest of his life in debtor's jail than have to look at "this dirty house." It really wasn't that dirty. Just when you're depressed, it's like 3 crumbs on the floor appear to be an acid-trip-like barrel of sand on the floor and there is nothing one can do until you come off that bad trip.

Saturday morning, the weather was summer-like. It was in the 70s. His "acid-trip-like" depression was gone. Hubby asked me if I wanted to go to the beach. THE BEACH???? Really. Does that man know how much I have in my life insurance policy? Look, I never liked the beach ever since I saw the movie Jaws. And now with this real-life tsunami disaster, my phobia is even worse. Ever since I was little I was petrified that each wave I saw could become a potential tsunami - even if the wave only came up to my knees. I think I'd rather take a long, hot, steamy shower within the safe confines of my home.