The sickness has been going around. It leaves no stone unturned, no head unclogged. It’s a real doozy and for some reason I’m still not over it, but almost there. In the throws of awfulness I left work early last week and came home to a made bed (my ultimate favorite) and this…
a pillow note from Mr. M.
I’m tellin’ ya…ladies love notes! Random notes of affection and appreciation go further than you would think.
It wasn’t all pillow talk during my week of a compromised immune system. Mr. M and I had to have a real heart to heart about how I need someone to take care of me when I’m sick. Normally I’m all I-am-woman-hear-me-roar, but when I’m sick–all caution is thrown to the wind and I become a big baby. Just scoop me up because I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. It was a good opportunity for him to learn something about me. He felt bad after not living up to my previously un-relayed expectations and came home the other day and said he had been thinking. He decided that writing a manifesto to protest his desire and commitment to taking care of me was in order.
The L-word crept into my mind as he mentioned the manifesto. Who are you? Why do I get to keep you? After 2010, the year of heartache and angst, it’s really unbelievable that I made it out alive and then there was this guy.
Mr. M. Nobody is perfect. But I wasn’t looking for perfect anyways. I was looking for this guy.