So, the Boss looked at me across the dinner table tonight, and casually mentioned, “I have to call my sister.”

“Which one?” I asked.

“I have to ask her what is appropriate to wear the first time a strange man sees me naked.”

Like I needed this bomb dropped in my lap only two nights before she deploys for five months.  I don’t think the two most important girls in my life have any idea of the stress they create for me with their casual conversation.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My massage tomorrow,” she explained, laughing at me. One of her sisters is a masseuse in Florida.  “The masseur is a guy.”

Where’s the bourbon?