Twice in the past three years I’ve scraped a post with the old car I love, in our very tiny underground garage. Less than 1 mph, first was a guy racing up on his cell phone. Second was a neighbor waving hello while walking into said garage.
Both times my husband and any male friend I saw asked two questions. Are you OK? Is the post OK? No woman would ever have asked that second question. They would have asked about the car, not the post.
Hugging. Kissing male friends and relatives. You never know to do the French single or double cheek or just hug. I’m sorry but if the man has to ask you on a date or to marry, he should decide and move in. Otherwise it’s awkward.
And Finally, Three.
No, you’re wrong. He always puts down the toilet seat so I won’t fall in. Gotcha! I’m certain he never did that before he met me.
Aside from spilling many Dr. Peppers, waters and others and only coming into “my” kitchen for ice and beverages I would like to not just cook for him, I’d like us to have the time to make a meal together once or twice a year. We may start with pizza with OO Italian flour, of course I have it. Friday night is pizza night.
Texas chili, my version of Lady Bird Johnson’s chili she served on the Pedernales ranch to 5,000 guests including JFK in 1962 is an option. It was the most requested document from the White House until JFK’s death. We could do that with cornbread and a salad. Dessert, well, we’ll talk about that. If his mother was visiting I’m sure she’d take care of it!
I love him dearly and while he’s not military, I feel for those younger wives who are alone for so long with young kids. My husband has been gone seven months and is back at least for a few days and we just have a dog. A spoiled dog at that.
This post is dedicated to the Americans who serve our nation and the families who miss them. Dee