Anise ≠ not-a-nephew.

I grew up pronouncing it to rhyme with Alice: short A, short I, accent on the first syllable. On the food shows, they say aNIECE. Wikipedia says I am right. I really ought to check my hardcover dictionary to be sure, but it’s been a long day and Idawanna.

We are back from Houston and MD Anderson and bloodwork and more bloodwork, and a consultation with their oncologist, who talked by phone with our local oncologist, and they concur on the next course of therapy for Beloved, which involves his taking a pill every day, at home, for 21 days, and then not, for 7 days. I snickered, “Honey, you’re going on The Pill!”

We have pumpkin pie fudge in the fridge, and leftover dinner from the restaurant we like so much that’s on the way to and from Houston (lunch for each of us tomorrow, huzzah).

We also had our first fight yesterday. It lasted all of 20 seconds, if that, and we were snickering about it within the hour. He has posted on Facebook, including the difficulty of trying to schedule makeup sex, which is something I’ve never had but I’ve heard is great. The children’s father and I never fought. My first marriage was pretty much all one long fight, so I don’t think our love life counts. I am missing out on one of life's allegedly wonderful experiences, simply because Beloved and I are two middle-aged people who drove 500+ miles in less than 24 hours, and what we are really hoping for, individually and collectively, is a good night’s sleep.

Night, y’all. Oh good grief, he’s snoring already!