It can be really tough being alone with my kids for 24 days straight without any parental help from Boo. Hell, it can be really tough being alone without a husband, period. I miss having a manly shoulder to lean on and prop me up.

There is no sex. No cuddling. No one manly arms to take the trash to the dump. No manly words of loved whispered to try entice me into the sack. No manly arms to cook us supper and keep us from starving to death.

Did I mention, the sex part? Somehow the humming of my favorite battery powered buddy is just not as thrilling as well, flesh and blood.

It’s a wonder the kids and I have survived Boo’s long absences.

Yet, Boo and I make it work for the most part. While he’s off chasing the almighty dollar, earning cash for standing around and picking his ass, I guard the home fires and try to keep the embers burning brightly for his return. He’s entrusted me with his kids, his castle and his bank account and all I have to do is talk to him once or twice a day while he’s absent to make sure I haven’t run off with the water man. Or the gas man. Or the mail man.

It’s not such a tough gig. Especially since I’m not dealing with our marital dip. And I’m not having any good sex. I should be well rested at the very least, being alone all the time.

So I go through the motions, waiting for his return, and for him to call so I can hear the warm, deep sound of his voice. Reminding myself, the entire time, he will be home soon and leaving his dirty clothes in a pile and generally driving me bat-shit crazy.

When the phone rings, every one scrambles to reach it first. Pillows and couch cushions fly in our haste to be the first to answer, the first to be able to speak with our elusive man.

The telephone is what is keeping our relationships with the missing man in action alive and healthy, reminding us that life will one day resume normally when the big guy returns.

After a particularly difficult night last night with the kids and a rough sleep entailing a lot of tossing and turning and shoving my dog’s arse out of my face, the phone rang this morning.

“Hello?” I answered, hoping it was Boo and not some telemarketer since once again my call display seemed to be in the crapper.

“Morning Sweet Cheeks, how did you sleep?” Boo asked.

“Not worth a nickel. Damn dog had gas and stunk worse than you normally do.”

“You love it. My manly aroma, that is.”

“Ya, it’s my favorite thing,” I replied while struggling to keep a straight face and not roll my eyes. “How was work?”

“Same ole, same ole. What do you have planned for today, love?”

“Well, I’m downloading some music as we speak and then I’m going to shake my thang. Maybe later go see about buying some clothes for our vacation. I’m trying to find a shiny gold banana hammock for you to sport. Preferably one with a thong.”

Visions of my husband’s ass cheeks jiggling on a tropical beach dance before my eyes.

“Ya. I’m not thinking so,” he replied somewhat dryly. “Maybe you should just shop for yourself and let me worry about my own clothes.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Don’t be such a puss. We’re going to be on vacation. You are supposed to let it all hang out.” Snicker.

“Speaking of letting it all hang out, have you been to the gym lately?” I could hear him unwrap a candy bar in my ear. Bastard.

“Are you implying something?” I asked in my most snotty wife voice.

“No, no. Just wondering,” he hurriedly added with his mouth full of chocolately goodness that I am trying to avoid in an attempt to actually fit into a swim suit. “You said you were going to buy a new swim suit. Did you get a bikini?” he asked, somewhat hopefully and completely pathetically.

“Um, that would be a negative, my friend.” Like duh.

“Why not? We’re going to be on vacation. You are supposed to let it all hang out,” he parroted back to me. Damn him.

“Because a bikini would show off my mummy tummy. The jelly belly in a bikini is not a pretty sight, not even for the foreigners I would be abusing by wearing one. I’d never be able to sit without rolls of flesh winking at me and mocking my self-esteem.”

“Don’t you worry about sitting. You’ll be laying down most of the time any way, he he,” he snickered.

“Very funny. What about when we are in public and I need to eat?” I argued.

“You mean you plan on eating something other than my manly sausage?”

“Stop it. You’re grossing me out and I just got up.”

“Well, you don’t look half bad as long as you stand. Think of the calories you’ll burn eating that way.”

“Remind me why I love you, again?”

“Cuz I’m your babies daddy. I’m your bread and butter. I complete you.”

“You just called me fat, you ass.” I felt the need to point this out. Like it wasn’t obvious.

“I’m just keeping it real. I’m helping motivate you. Trying to get you moving, like you asked me to.”

“You know, I’m suddenly feeling really good about myself. Maybe I’ll go bury my face in a pail of icecream and then crack a few beers. Watch some soaps and eat that stack of halloween candy I bought for the kids. Really round myself out. Fill out that mythical bikini.”

“Sounds good to me. Just make sure you’re not sitting next to me when we get there. That roll of flesh may swallow me whole,” he snorted.

“I’m hanging up now, dick head.” I threatened.

“I love you too. You should groove your way to the gym so that bikini and -”

“I can’t hear you!” I yelled into the phone. “Bad connection. I think I’m losing you. Love you,” I called as I pressed the disconnect button.

Yes, our phone conversations help keep the magic of our marriage alive.

I think I’ll let the kids answer the next call. I’m gonna be busy eating ice cream and searching the web for an itty bitty man bikini to shove his package into. Let’s see how sexy Mr. Confident feels when he learns the only trunks I packed for him are of the shiney gold thong variety.

I may have to strategically hide my mummy tummy, but at least I’m not going to have to stuff any part of my suit to look sexy.

***Update:***

Apparently, in a bout of insomnia, the hubs decided to check my blog instead of sleeping like he is supposed to be doing this afternoon. He doesn’t think I’ve got the cojones to buy him a thong. He’s issued a challenge, in his sleep-deprived state. He SWEARS he will wear a thong if I agree to go topless one afternoon on some tropical beach.

You silly man. You silly, lovable, sleepy man.

I accept your challenge. (After all, didn’t the psych assessment say I have exhibitionist tendencies?)

Not only will I go topless (while extremely intoxicated I hope) and let the boob rings glint in the sun for an hour or so just to see your sweet hairy ass cheeks shimmer like the white, cantaloupe globes they are, but I’m gonna take a picture.

And I’m gonna send it out to our family and friends as our Christmas card.

You’ve made your bed bet.

It’s public now, my sweets. Better buy a razor and practice shaving those sweet cheeks and while you’re at it, you might want to find a stair master to boot.

Don’t mess with the Redneck. I always win.

Smooches, love.

I may even post the pic, for all to ridicule and snigger enjoy.

Let’s see who gets the laugh laugh now, eh Boo?