When Girls Weekend officially ended yesterday afternoon around 2 p.m., I called Chuck from the road to discuss our afternoon plans. I had a paper to write and was considering a stop at the public library where I could have a little peace and quiet to complete it. When I asked him whether or not I should come home beforehand, he replied, “Just come home first.”
There was much fanfare when I walked in the door, as if I’d been gone two months instead two nights. As I made my way through the living room towards the kitchen, I noticed Chuck was hovering. He missed me, I thought. So sweet.
And then I noticed a strong chemical smell. I turned away from petting the dog to determine where the oily, gasoline smell was coming from… Which is when I saw this on the dining room table:
The reaction was two-fold. I have always wanted an antique typewriter that works. That is part of it. But the other part is that Chuck has kept an eye out for this machine for years, always remembering that it was something I desired. The gesture, more than anything, is what warranted the tears. My goodness. He still woos me. It is scary good when your spouse knows you this well.
I turn 35 years old on Friday, and this was a killer way to start the week.
For record-keeping purposes, here is a shot from Girls Weekend. Love these ladies dearly: