Why it was only this past Sunday, the beginning of this new week, that Luscious and I finally took the Christmas Tree down! In all honesty, I didn't even notice it was still up until the end of January. All the rambling around taking care of the folks has left my house in total disrepair. My dear Luscious doesn't like clutter within his line of vision. Therefore, while I dash in and out, dumping stuff on the kitchen table, bedroom floor, bathroom floor, totes here, totes there, well, it can accumulate. Luscious is very good at being tidy. I am not (well, in my head I am a queen of clean orderliness). To keep his sanity, he picks up all my droppings and then deposits them in the spare bedroom that I slaved over getting clean for the Thanksgiving visit from Number 1 son. Am I making any sense so far. My brain is really rambling today.
So, all the things that I
are all in a pile of the floor and bed of the spare room. He can close the door and forget about it.
I have spent the better part of the past few months staying with my folks at night down the hill. Now and then, like this morning, I get to go looking for something that I KNOW I have but where in the dickens did I put it? Aha! The spare room.
Which leads me to why I am writing this post . . .
I have the world's best hubby. It is written all over my face when I see him. I adore this man. It is evident in the butterflies I still get in my tummy after all these years when I see him come through the door or hear his voice on the phone. There are only a few things that I have requested of him through the years. They are:
(1) don't mess with my garden plans. There is always a method in the madness of my experimental layouts. He still has not learned this.
(2) Don't buy me clothes for gifts. This is because they NEVER fit. They are either too small for certain parts of my body (like my apple bottom) or too large for my sports bra clad uni-bosom.
This morning, as I plowed through the piles of clean clothes on the bed for a pair of jeans that I could not find, I did find an erstwhile Christmas gift. A new pair of jeans. In desperation, I grabbed them up and tried them on. Huzzah! A decent fit except for the length. I am a short gal. He is a tall guy. I never have to hem his pants because men's pants come in the length that is correct. Ladies pants however labeled are always too long for me. So . . . I have spent the remainder of my free time this morning trying to hem a pair of jeans and cutting off the 6 inches of excess.
Luscious will be thrilled to see me wear his gift. I am certain that it has been as forgotten as what else is behind the door of the spare room.