While in NYC, I attended the Voices of the Year Gala, where The Bloggess manned a pink vintage Smith-Corona typewriter and pecked out personalized poems in exchange for free booze.

Naturally, when it was my turn, I asked her to save my marriage.

The Bloggess, she’s a perceptive one, picking up on my eyes of fire and head full of awesome with just a wayward glance.

I immediately emailed the poem to my husband, who is currently half-way through a three-week stint aboard an oyster boat in the Gulf Coast making sure all BP employees are properly hydrated.

He didn’t ask who The Bloggess was or why she was writing him a poem. He wanted to know which one of us she is waiting in the wings for.

Because that? Could totally determine his fight or flight strategy.