My husband deserves good things...

Note how it doesn't need me in it to hold its shape.

Wednesday night was Dan's annual holiday work "Gala" which I really wanted to write in depth about and couldn't because yesterday was totally booked with a full day of massive hangover. I no longer have the ability to crawl into bed at 2:30am and then be a productive human on any level the following day.

The "Gala" is a wedding version of a holiday party. It's an annual 150-person soiree where the men dress in suits and ties, the women are in lovely dresses (no use for my jingle bells sweater here), and everyone is treated to a cocktail hour, sit-down feast, a night of dancing and an overnight stay at the hotel where the event is held. It is a wonderful gift for a company to give its employees, a night of upscale (yet expense-free) frivolity and fun, and it is, in many ways, the hardest day of the year for me. The majority of the people there are friendly and warm, the night invites a good time on every level, but an evening of socialization on such a large scale while attired in a dress and, worse, heels, is an anxiety-provoking endeavor for me. (Last year I may have come down with something and was unable to attend.) But, I also know---even from within my panic---that my dread and worry are disproportionately heavy and also the worst part of the evening; I always end up having a good time.

Plus, it is Dan---the man who enabled our wedding day to be more than a pizza and beer extravaganza; all that I was capable of planning---who put the entire evening together so it is always great to actually see the fruits of his labor (since he tells me nothing..also, that's what she said) and hear the the accolades and deep appreciation his co-workers have for him. ("We all love Dan," the ladies from his office always tell me. According to Dan this is the result of his having changed a light bulb for them years ago but I know better. Then, during a slide show presentation, a picture of Dan came up which not only caused an eruption of cheering but also for the slide show presenter to say that "Nothing in this company happens without Dan having a hand in it on some level and each and every person in here knows that he's saved their ass at least once this year.")

My man. (He will be uncomfortable with my writing that and I don't care.) Knowing that this is his night, I tried in every possibly way to back burner my anxiety (read: Ativan) and just make sure that he had a good time. As a result, I attended the event costumed as arm candy, which basically translates to high heels (the high kind and not the one-inch stubs I prefer...that's what she said) and a push-up bra.

If I'm being honest, it was my therapist, in whose office I released all stress and nervousness such that I could proceed, who sent me out after our session that afternoon to procure the heels and push-up bra...she even specified its being push-up; something I've never bought before. She also recommended that I wear the bright orange dress (a firey reddish fall orange, not the stuff of Sunny-D) versus a very nice but more conservative beaded once which would have better facilitated by blending into the wall. It was an effort born partly from my wanting to douse Dan with a little you-da-man cologne and partly as a psychology/writing experiment. This is pretty far outside my comfort zone---I don't consider myself a sweet enough piece to be considered "arm candy" nor have I ever aspired to be considered such---but it was a new and curious plan of attack. Whether or not it worked is an essay and analysis for another day but I do know that both Dan and I had a great time.

I also know I ended the night eating a Hostess cupcake in bed with Dan passed out next to me. As the cupcake crumbs fell onto the white bedsheets and I frantically tried to brush them off only to have them smoosh and streak the sheets further, I realized my place in life; I'm much more smooshed cupcake than arm candy.

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Today, Dan and I are headed to NYC for a weekend away. As our Christmas present to each other we're seeing "In The Heights" and "Next to Normal" and I'm bouncin'-in-my-seat psyched. Although Dan enjoys Broadway shows (reason #1435 that I love him) I think the getaway aspect is more his part of the gift and the shows are mine. (Though, he broke the go-light-on-the-gifts rule and also got me a couple of sweaters I had my eye on plus CDs and books and a beautiful necklace. I got him a yoga mat, which could warrant "worst gift ever" status---he had just taken his first class---and it felt a little like when Homer gave Marge a bowling ball for her birthday.)

He planned our whole NYC trip, too---booked the hotel and bought the tickets.

My man.

I actually probably need to start getting ready to go since he just woke up. Coming out of our bedroom just now---fully clothed---he said,"I woke up naked..." which was confusing to him as he had gone to bed dressed.

"Did you take advantage of me?" he asked.

My man.

Thanks, bud.