Is there anything better on a hot summer night than nice clean, crisp, cool sheets against your freshly showered body? I think not. I love fresh sheets in the summer almost as much as I love crawling into flannel sheets fresh from the dryer in the middle of winter.

I changed the sheets the other day and I climbed in, inhaled the freshness and promptly went to sleep.

Bandit still sleeps with me. Usually he is curled somewhere near my knees and will move to my feet area later on. With the extreme heat, Mordecai has taken to joining us in the air conditioned comfort of my room. He can usually be found on top of the sheets very far at the bottom of the bed. This scenario is important to know as the story unfolds.

I was deep into my clean-sheet slumber when I was awakened by the barks of both dogs coming from inside the sheets. Snarling and barking and bumping and fumbling until Mordecai emerged and tore out of the room.

What the hell is going on??

As I started to get out of bed, Bandit emerged, clearly annoyed.  I realized his anger and a wetness on my foot at the exact same time.

Mordecai had started to pee on the bed in his sleep, or marking his territory, or maybe just licking my feet. I was actually more dampish than wet, and the bed was too. I cleaned it up, covered the spot with a towel, took the dogs out and got back into bed. Mordecai went back to Babygirl’s room, and Bandit went to his crate. Since I was sleeping with a ‘helper’ I immediately crashed again.

In the morning, I had nearly forgotten about the night’s events when I heard a licking sound. Since Bandit is always licking his paws (a habit he’s had since he was a puppy) I assumed it was him. “Bandit, knock it off.” I said and suddenly Bandit was coming into the room. “What the…?”  I could still hear the licking.

Mordecai had burrowed under the covers again after I got up. I flipped back the covers and there he was, licking the lipstick.

“Oh hell no!!”

Before I could say another word, he gave a little doggy whimper, his hind leg twitched and he spooged on my bed. Looking guilty, he tried to clean it up himself.

Pushing down my rising gorge (I always wondered if I would use that phrase in my writing!) I chased him from my room and changed my sheets yet again.

This I blame on the Hubs. Having Mordecai neutered was pushed back in June so we could go away for a weekend. Then it was pushed back for other expenses. Now August is totally out of the question. I swear, it will be done in September.

Until September, Hubs can change the sheets!!!

I fucked up. Yeah, again, so shut up.

I have Black Tie protection on my laptop. Or I should say that I had it. It expired in December. However, I got a renewal notice in the mail a couple of months ago and since I always renew, I went online and renewed it. Or I should say that I thought I renewed it. I am having a problem with my USB ports and took the laptop to Best Buy to have it serviced. My charger is also beat so I wanted that replaced also. Imagine my surprise when they told me that I had no coverage! “But you guys have my money!”  The ‘geek’ went online and said that I have no coverage but my daughter did.

Um…what? We never got the service for my daughter because the techs at her college would cover her problems for free, plus if they looked at it once, it would nullify the Black Tie protection anyway. So ‘geek’ told me to call customer service and sort it out.

I called yesterday and I was told that since my coverage was expired since December, I can’t transfer the coverage. Okay. I can deal with that. It pisses me off, but I understand. I just want my money back. When I ordered the protection plan, it was credited to my daughter’s laptop. I was given a  number and told to go online and explain it in an email.

Today, I went online and couldn’t find the place where I was supposed to do this. And so, I called their number once more. Now they want my daughter’s receipt for her laptop. They want info on my daughter’s computer. Why? I don’t understand why this is so difficult. Now, I don’t have to send an email. Now I have to write a letter of intent (to cancel the coverage) I have to explain all of this in writing and include the receipt for kid’s laptop, four part numbers and other shit.

Hoops, people. Fucking hoops. I don’t have the patience for this shit.

The harder I tried to explain to these folks, the harder it seemed to get. The guy kept interrupting me and trying to interpret what I was saying before I finished my explanation. Did he understand me? I couldn’t tell you. But I kept getting more and more confused. We were both speaking English and yet I felt like I was speaking gibberish!

My head hurts really bad now. I want to scream at the top of my lungs.

Seven years. Two kids. Wonderful husband. Then why am I here?

These thoughts swirled in my head as I sat in my car parked across the street from the hotel. Round and round they went on a loop. I truly love my husband. I don’t want to jeopardize this. My kids…oh God, my kids. I love them fiercely.

I feel like a shadow of myself. I clean my house, wipe snot off the kids, cook for them all. My husband thanks me and never fails to kiss me goodbye or say “I love you” when he leaves the house. But sometimes I feel like he doesn’t see me. As if we are going through the motions.

The red car pulls up and he moves easily to the hotel door. As he unlocks the door, I watch. He is beautiful. My heart skips a beat and I feel a flush of desire infuse me. He looks into my eyes when we speak. He laughs at my jokes. He tells me that I make a difference in his day. I miss that with my husband.

I start the car and the radio is playing Bruce Springsteen…”Hey little girl is your daddy home? Did he go and leave you all alone? Ooooh I’m on fire…”

I park my car next to his and look into the mirror. I run my fingers through my hair, touch up my lipstick. I join him in the room.

He kisses me. Possesses me. His tongue devours mine, greedily. His hands, ever gentle, leave a trail of fire on my skin. He removes my clothes and his own and then….Oh God…and then….

I feel strange in my own skin.  I allow things that I would normally shy from. I am wanton in my desires. All thoughts of family and spouse are gone. I am needed, I am wanted, I am the only thing in this man’s universe…for now. He is the only thing in my world….at this moment.

I must leave. The kids will be home from school soon.

I feel dirty, used. What happened to the feelings of ‘worth’?  I feel guilty and tell him so. This won’t happen, CAN’T happen again. I love and need my family more.

I close the room door and wipe the tears of shame from my eyes.

I start the car to leave and the radio is playing “Careless Whisper” by Wham!

“I should have known better than to cheat a friend
And waste the chance that I’d been given
So I’m never gonna dance again
The way I danced with you”

I drive through the traffic, to return to my life, my home….

I am not writing this to say that Casey Anthony is guilty or not guilty. I believe that has been decided in a Florida courtroom. I am, however, writing this about the outcome and the resulting outrage.

It is MY opinion that Nancy Grace whipped the public into a frenzy in the many months that this was in the news. It is MY opinion that she helped fan every rumor into what many perceived as “facts”.  Did she kill her daughter? We will never know. Did she lie? Definitely.

WE are not the jury. WE may have sat in front of our televisions for the past weeks hanging on every word. But did we listen with unbiased ears? If we took the word “CHILD” or “MOTHER” out of the equation, would there still be the outrage? The thought of a mother killing her child cuts to the very heart of every other mother. No one can imagine doing that to their OWN child. But that is beside the point. The jury followed the law. Circumstantial evidence is not enough to convict someone. No one witnessed Caylee’s death. Even the coroner could not say exactly how Caylee died.

And so, if a few of my friends on Facebook are to be believed, at 9pm, we should be lighting our front lights for Caylee. Why?  It won’t change the verdict. It won’t bring the little girl back.

If – God forbid – someone I know or love ever needs a jury trial, I am terrified of who would be chosen as a jury. Do I want someone who will ‘assume’ guilt the way that many on television or Twitter have? Do I want someone who gets all their news from Joy Behar, Nancy Grace, Anderson Cooper or the myriad other talking heads? Hell no!

I want someone who will look at the facts. I want someone who will follow the letter of the law. I want someone who will take an oath to uphold justice.

I want someone willing to make the hard choices. I don’t envy those jurists for one minute. They will be despised by millions for doing their duty as Americans.