Guilty pleasures.

What does it say about me when one of my biggest guilty pleasures is having someone come to visit, and allowing the dajamou to monopolize his time so she doesn't monopolize mine?

There are so many levels of pleasure here, and so many levels of guilt. One, I get entire chunks of moments when she isn't clamoring for my attention, and at the same time isn't watching TV. So, that's plus one pleasure, and even minus one guilt! Good, eh? And then there's the thought that she's actually reaching out to another person besides me, getting mentally stimulated by lots and lots of play that I just don't have the energy to give her. So, another plus one pleasure. So far, so good!

But now we get to the point where the dajamou has pretty much attached herself to our guest like a barnacle to a ship for about four hours, and is nearly as hard to remove as said mollusk. And I start feeling guilty that I haven't rescued him before now. (As if he doesn't know how to extricate himself, doesn't know how to say 'no.' He totally does. But still. The guilt.) So that's a plus one in the guilt column.

I guess that's the thing: we're still way ahead in the pros column. I must be an accountant at heart. Because here I sit, still NOT rescuing our guest, but instead prattling to the Internet world about guilty pleasures.

I think I'll mix another rum & coke before wandering in there.