In spooky holiday spirit, before I left I was visited by the Ghost of Housewife Past (I know, wrong holiday, just go with me here), who looked strangely like Martha Stewart. This ghost was a huge guilt tripper.
Ghost of Housewife Past, in ‘I’m so ashamed of you, you’re giving all H.I.T.’s a horrible name’ voice: What do you mean you’re going to leave your husband to fend for himself for six nights?!?! How will he get by?
H.I.T., exhausted from being woken up in the middle of the night: The same way he did before he met me – restaurant dinners and Chinese food take-out.
Ghost of Housewife Past, sighs heavily and is now deeply ashamed, awaiting to be further prompted.
H.I.T., taking the bait: Do you have another idea?
Ghost of Housewife Past, in that ‘I’m so excited I’m talking way too fast voice’: YES! You can make him dinners and put them in the freezer so all he has to do is bake them. Voila! He will have a nutritional dinner awaiting him each night and you won’t have to worry about him spending an obnoxious amount of money dining out at restaurants with friends! The wine alone can cost upwards of…
H.I.T.: I thought you were the Ghost of Housewife Past? With all that fiscal talk, you sound like the Ghost of Housewife Present…
Ghost of Housewife Past, in ‘I am so much wiser than you’ voice: Ah, my dear. You don’t survive the Great Depression by leaving your husband to dine at Il Postino (337 E 49th St.) every night.