Love is coming to bed not only with cold feet, but cold hands, arms, and legs, and having your husband snuggle close to warm you up.
Love is waking up at 4:30 in the morning, wedged tightly between your husband and your cat, and not really caring that they just want your body heat.
Love is getting up every morning at 4:30 (when the cat thinks it wants breakfast) and putting the cat outside - and never waking up your husband and insisting that he do it for once.
Love is telling your husband that you really don't feel like cuddling after you put the cat out - and it doesn't bother him.
That was my night/morning. I'm feeling pretty loved.
It's Weight Watcher's day again. Time to go face the music for giving in and having the french toast at Denny's this weekend, I guess. Though I was mostly good for the rest of the week, so maybe it won't be too bad.
I'm leaving work early today because I have some shopping I want to do, and some of it has to be done without Matt. (Have you seen the romance page?) I generally don't like shopping (I'm a mutant female, I know) but it's sortof fun shopping for other people. (Note to readers: The romance page mentioned above has been removed, but the reference was to the book 101 Nights of Grrreat Romance: How to Make Love With Your Clothes On, by Laura Corn.)
I was having a discussion yesterday with my office-mate, Jeremy, and my friend Nancy. We were talking about shoes. Matt insists that I have a lot of shoes. I tell him that he has no idea - for a woman, I have a startlingly low number of shoes. Maybe a dozen pairs, of which I actually wear about five of them most of the time. All the men I know have exactly three pairs of shoes: One pair of sneakers, one pair of loafers, and one pair of dress shoes. That's it. I told Jeremy and Nancy that I would give a lot to have three pairs of shoes which would cover my entire wardrobe. I would. I hate picking out shoes, and I especially hate picking out women's shoes. I hate wearing pointy-toed shoes like, say, everything except sneakers.
Jeremy offered the opinion that men have nothing to do with women's shoes - that, in fact, men never notice women's shoes. I laughed and pointed out that the only reason women wear high heels is to make their legs look nice for men. Jeremy conceded that, but suggested that heels should fall into the category of dress shoes and that one pair should be sufficient for every dress occasion. He suggested that no man would ever say anything like, Oh my god, look at her - does she really think those shoes go with that outfit?
I was willing to consider it - a pair of white sneakers, a pair of brown loafers, and a pair of black heels. There might be something to this, after all. Nancy, on the other hand, was horrified by the thought.
Jeremy offered the further opinion that if every woman in the world could agree on only three pairs of shoes, then it would eventually become the norm and wouldn't bother anyone. Nancy - proving his point that it is the women who control the shoe hysteria - reacted as though only having three pairs of shoes would be the end of the world. ::sigh:: Which, I suppose, means that I'm stuck with my dozen pairs of shoes, and my husband's ridicule. Oh, well...
Who am I to complain? At least my husband loves me. And the cat wants my body heat.
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