12 p.m. — My husband has showered and comes downstairs. Turns out, he went to two different bars after I went to sleep and saw a band play. We chat and then decide that while it's not raining heavily, we'll go for a walk to get some exercise. We bundle up and head out. It is raining and the wind picks up so we stop at the neighborhood bar for a warm-up. I have two delicious white Russians and my husband has a mixed drink and a beer. We talk to the regular sitting next to us who manages to say, like, ten sexist things in the space of an hour. He reveals that he has a wife and a secret girlfriend and I think, “TWO women are in love with this joker?” There is no accounting for taste. We also chat with the newer bartender who organizes music shows in town. Then we head home. My husband pays.