When I came home last night at the end of the work week, I really needed my husband to be excited to see me. If he was, he didn't show it. He was just tired. And on his phone.
I hoped he'd cooked dinner, cuz he's the one who cooks in our family. But he didn't. He was tired.
The kids and I ate whatever. Instead of swallowing my bitterness with the microwaved leftovers, I spewed it all over him, and the kids got splattered as well.
My son asked us please to not get divorced.
We won't. We are just fire and oil. And our kids are fireworks.
None of us are sand or water.
Our marriage is a blaze, and not smoldering coals. My attraction burns for him in our 15th year of marriage as hot as it always did.
Fire and oil.
This sunny morning as I hurried out the door to my dance class, my husband handed me a breakfast burrito to take with me while he cooked breakfast.
We kissed briefly despite our squabble the night before, and I was gone.
This was, quite literally, the best breakfast burrito I've ever tasted. I wondered if I was stoned or something. It was that good.
You wouldn't have known the burrito would taste that delicious from looking at it. It fell apart when I tried to pick it up.
I had to hold up the sides and shove it in my mouth. Not unlike a 15-year marriage. A little sloppy. A lot delicious. Fire and oil working to perfection.
No comments:
Post a Comment