On the Other Hand...

With Himself away, I get to drive the nice, new red car that he usually takes to work instead of my old brown van.

I get the bed to myself.  I can read as late as I am able without the groaning and muttering from the other side of the bed telling me to turn off the light.

I'll hear one less complaint about what I've made for supper.

I won't miss the last 5 minutes of my show, you know, when they're just about to reveal who the serial killer is, because he's wandered in and started talking to me. (Jesus, that bugs me.)

I won't get the snarky comments about when I'm going to put the wash away/vacuum/clean the toilet (Fuck off).

So, there's some silver lining.