My office is strangely quiet. The walls are almost empty, my desk has these big shiny empty spots, the shelves hold a few dog eared phone books, and my drawers hold only the essentials. Pen, paperclips, post-it notes. Gone are the coffee mugs, certificates, photos, lotion bottles, and pizza cutter. It has a surreal, twilight zone feeling really. I hardly recognize it as my office anymore. I guess because those things that made it mine are now gone.

So tomorrow is it. The last hurrah, the final push. The light at the end of the tunnel is going to hit me right smack in the face. I’m so excited.

Kevin has already started pulling attitude though. Last night, after dinner, I reminded him, “I cooked so you clean.”

“No way, you’re quitting next week and I’m going to have to work so you get to clean.”

I gave him my “wonder how fast the life insurance check will get here after I bury him in the backyard” gaze and he quickly began loading the dishwasher.

We have agreed, however, that I will take over full laundry duty since it is the No. 1 item of contention in our marriage. I still, however, refuse to iron. Good thing Kev’s an engineer. I think wrinkly, food stained shirts are a requirement of the trade. Which is a good thing ‘cause that’s all Kev owns.

I, however, can’t wait to pack away all my heels and suits and jackets. I plan on spending all day in my pj’s. I’ll scandalize the neighbors who’ll comment amongst themselves, “I think she’s been wearing that same t-shirt all week. She used to be such a pretty girl but now, tsk, tsk, tsk. I wonder if she isn’t slightly, you know, impaired? In the head? And her hair! Don’t even get me started.”

Actually, I am very nice neighbors who, oddly enough, are all retired so I’ll at least have someone to day hello to when I wander out to the front porch around noon to pick up the paper before making breakfast. Hey, someone has to provide scandal for the neighborhood. Might as well be me & my well worn pj’s!