Screw the Butterflies

In a matter of hours, I'm going to be in my Boss Man's arms again. I've primped and purtied myself as much as I can primp and get purty. I look like a girl again in fact. All I have left to do is my hair, and I refuse to make my hair pretty before I go to work.

There are butterflies in my stomach, and frogs, lots and lots of frogs. Screw the butterflies. The frogs consumed them all jumping around like crazy. I don't know why I get so nervous. I know, as soon as he walks threw the door and wraps his arms around me, everything will be perfect. Better than perfect, in fact it will be stupendously amazingly awesomely awesome. And I can't wait.

I can't wait for him to whisper in my ear that he loves me. I can't wait for him to wrap his arms tight around me. I can't wait to hear his laugh. I can't wait to see him smile at me when he thinks I'm not looking. I can't wait to hold his hands. I can't wait to put both my hands into one of his.

I can't wait to be home again.