I'm sleeping alone.

The husband is out of town on business.

So the Queen has the bed all to herself for seven nights.

You know what sucks? Having a husband-less bed. You know what sucks worse? Having a husband-less bed for seven nights.

One night? Okay. Doable.

Two nights? Sure. It gets lonely, but not achingly so.

Three? That's pushing it. That's when the familiar smell of him starts to be overtaken by my shampoo.

But seven? Seven is a number of bad shit. Seven deadly sins. Seven years of bad luck. 7-11.

I should go to bed. But that Queen-size is looking really really big without my king in it.