<p style="text-align: center;"><a title="Soldier's goodbye &amp; Bobbie the cat, ca. 1939-ca. 1945 / by Sam Hood by State Library of New South Wales collection, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/statelibraryofnsw/3257035516/"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3124/3257035516_1733ccf238.jpg" alt="Soldier's goodbye &amp; Bobbie the cat, ca. 1939-ca. 1945 / by Sam Hood" width="378" height="500" /></a></p>
My husband and I had to go out of town last weekend. As we like to do any time we're staying in a hotel, we put on our coziest pajamas, got chin-deep in the covers and flipped on the funniest, most moronic thing we could find on cable TV.

Hey, don't knock us. At least we don't spend thousands of hours and hundreds of dollars each year on the boob tube. We can watch TV when we're dead. Or, you know, when we're spending hundreds of dollars on a hotel room for the weekend.

All of this is beside the point, so I'll get back on track: So there we were, sitting in the glow of the light of a giant TV, cold cocktails in hand, the sounds of a comedy show audience washing over our ears like waves on a beach.

Then, we heard a different sort of noise.

Catch my drift? Get the whole story <a href="http://www.tulsakids.com/?q=confessions-work-home-mom-making-every-day-sexy">on my blog at TulsaKids.com</a>.
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