Life is stranger than fiction. I don't so much have a life as I'm at the mercy of a Cosmic Scriptwriter with a taste for the trite and a refusal to let me win the lottery.
Husband's finally home safe, relaxed some (I plunked him into a bubble bath because they fix everything, dammit) and fed (ribeye marinated with rosemary and lemongrass). I'll spend the weekend getting things into some sort of order and contact the Department of State on Monday.