Humor, Marriage

Spoons and Cold Hands on Route 66

I just walked through the living room to the background noise of a basketball game.  Beside my reclining husband on the table I drenched in polyurethane to accommodate his known, bachelor-days habits were a half dozen spoons used for sugar free puddings and yogurt.

“Collecting spoons?” I asked.  “Everyone needs a hobby.”

I took my glass to the kitchen, rinsed it and left it in the sink.  I should have retrieved his spoons.  In the existential, I made a conscious decision not to be a type-A freak and I let it go.

Bob gave me his I-may-not-put-my-spoons-in-the-sink-but-you-DO-love-me-just-as-I-am smile.  When I neared his chair, he reached out and took my hand in passing.  “Your hands are cold.”

Always with the cliché, I responded, “Cold hands, warm heart.”

Bob said, “I thought that was cold nose, warm heart.”  He loves dogs, so I guess that works, too.

Now in my office, I feel happy.  The ordinary days of our lives are so rich.

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