Every year it’s the same date. Bit like a birthday. But it’s not like a birthday. As husbant and I were doing the shopping last night, he disappeared to get me a card and I wandered off to buy him 360g of Cadbury’s chocolate. How romantic was that? Even better, I paid for the shopping, including said card. But I still love that little moment of scurrying. And I had planned to put his card and chocolate on his desk so he would get it when he stumbled into the home/office at silly o’clock, but I haven’t; so now I have to work out how to surreptitiously leave it somewhere for him to find. Maybe on his drum kit! He asked me last week if I could work from home today – my brain didn’t make the connection straightaway – but once I had, there was a frisson of excitement as to what may unfold. I love that. With a little prodding, and given my need to know what surprises are in advance (ie, no surprises, please), he told me we were going out for dinner down the road but swore me not to check out the menu. I haven’t. But am sorely tempted.
Am a bit of a romantic. And I tell my gorgeous husbant that I love him almost every day because I do. He is so kind. He makes me laugh. He is my best friend.
But even better, he brings me a cup of tea and empties the dishwasher every morning. Now that really is love.
Snoo's kitchen 