Thanks to NBC Sports for the photo. Also: That is not my husband.
Things that are happening because my husband is at a race at Watkins Glen:
I rolled out of bed, ran a brush through my hair, and had a friend over for breakfast. I made omelettes. We drank high test coffee and talked about girl stuff, music, and world affairs. All before I'd put on street clothes, makeup, or a bra. Friends you don't have to vacuum for are AWESOME.
I've watched two different documentaries: this one and this one. I highly recommend them both. You'll need tissues.
I've left the air conditioner off and the windows open.
I've made cheese quesadillas an honorary food group.
I did laundry, but I haven't put it away. I may not put it away today, either. We'll see.
There is wine. Its cheap, cold, and in a jug. There is a high probability of italian food later, and it will very likely be consumed with a glass of the aforementioned cheap cold wine. Probably while watching another documentary.
We've had this text exchange:
Me: Having fun?
Him: So far so good hot
Him: (Later) Pretty awesome
Me: Yeah? Can you see well where you are?
Him: (empty message-- itchy send finger, I guess)
Him: Yeah baby.
Me: Is it loud?
Him: Oh yeah.
So I gather from this that NASCAR is either so mind-numbingly awesome it simply buggers the imagination and one's ability to articulate its awesomeness via text message, OR its so loud and disorienting that it has reduced my husband's vocabulary to that of someone receiving a lap dance.
Either way, I'm not feeling sad or left behind.
I think I'll bake some pretzels.