The prodigal husband (not really prodigal--he's such a good egg) has gone and left me again. He seems recharged and was ecstatic about being home, despite the fact that his greatest achievement was to revive his poor tomatoes from the clutches of four foot high weeds, and to carve out a lawn where there was recently wheat growing. Sorry, honey. And my best friend is here, to pay witness to these funny milestones. Like this one: "This could be the last week I can wear my jeans." Pull them up, button them and realize that last week was the last week I could wear my jeans. Every day a new article of clothing gets eradicated from the drawer, and I'm realizing that there needs to be a much greater intervention than merely, "It fits good enough..."
So off I go, shedding my dignity and vanity as I trek, into the wilds of wardrobe replacement therapy. Perhaps a nice pair of shoes can add some happy to the whole experience.