Miss Pouty Pants

I've been trying to schedule some mini vacations in the past week or so. Mr. M got offered to do a bit of contract work in London for four days and they're flying him out for free AND paying him.

If being close to forty means that people pay you to do that kind of stuff, sign me up!

So, as soon as I heard the news, I started looking for airfare. No reason why I shouldn't join him on his little jaunt over the pond. Yes, I've been there before. Yes, it was just in October. Yes, I'll be on my own for most of each day since he'd be working. Yes, the tickets are ranging between $15,000 and selling your first born child.

and... NO... I'm not going. damnit.

Then I was looking at flights for Vegas because the
Wynn Casino is opening in the end of April and Mr. M had expressed an interest in going to see that spectacle that can only be offered by Las Vegas.

Nene was going to be coming with me since she's been having flirtatious emails with one of Mr.M's friend's from Vegas. Whom she met last time we were visiting. I found $435 airfare and hotel and I was pretty dang pleased with myself. Until I called Nene and she said she had decided to meet Mr. M's friend in San Diego the previous weekend instead, and couldn't take that much time off of work.

and ... NO.. I'm not going to Vegas either now. DAMNIT.

We were sitting on the porch, enjoying the 60 degree weather for the first time this year. Mr. M says, why do you always do this? Which is just asking for a fight. But, I didn't feel like fighting. So I lazily said, "do what?"

He goes on to explain that everytime a possible trip comes about, even a hint of one I've already booked 6 plane tickets within the hour. He says that he never gets a chance to invite me anywhere because I've already took the reigns. He also says, Vegas will NEVER NEVER NEVER be a place for us to go together and spend quality time.

I'm feeling like a hurt child at this moment. Everyone else in the WORLD gets to enjoy Vegas with their SO's and have nice dinners, see shows, drink wine, and watch the Bellagio fountains together at night. Why can't I!? (insert pouting lower lip at this juncture).

He explains that since he lived their for 8 years it isn't like a tourist place to him, it's like going home to visit his boys, his crew, his posse if you will. That when I come along he feels that tug to make me happy, so he changes his normal plans to suit one's that would please me.

I never asked him to do this. This is just what he does, and then I have to pay the price by not being invited the next time. I am VERY happy to sit in front of a slot machine, or BJ table or ANYTHING for that matter for hours by myself. I expressed this very thing.

To which he responds, yes dear, I know that you don't ask me to, but when you're their you Trump all other things. (insert allover warm feeling at the lovely compliment).

So, Mr. M is going to Vegas by himself to spend three days playing poker with his boys for 12 hour days/nights and eating Habib's Persian food. Nene is going to San Diego, meeting her boy at his companies condo on the beach and having wild passionate hair pullin sex. AND Mr. M is going across the pond to teach high priced executives how to play poker, while dining on Mediterranean food and fish and chips.

I, however... will be sitting on my ass feeling sorry for myself.

(insert big fat pouty pants)