It dawned on me tonight, as we were simultaneously pulling off the shot routine along with the get ready for bed routine, that my dining room may not be the most private of places.
I sauntered in topless from our bedroom, because, practically speaking, it is easier to give oneself a shot in the stomach with no clothing on the top half to interfere. See, the whole put the shirt under the chin trick just doesn’t jibe with the precision act of shot taking that I have yet to master.
So I thought, ingeniously, no shirt, no problem. Nick didn’t seem to mind it.
Only when I saw my reflection in our french doors that lead to the sunroom (as in windows sans curtains across the entire back wall) did I realize that I could essentially be putting on a burlesque show for any number of neighbors.
But instead of quickly retreating to the inner sanctum of my house, bashful, I decided it was on with the show.
Because at our house, skin is in. If you’re talking subcutaneous injections, that is.