I didn't hear the dog whimper at the bedroom door that she needed to go out to use the bathroom.
But I did hear what I thought to be the assembling of coffee in the coffee pot for consumption. So I waited a few minutes before getting up, that way there was enough for my cup. I woke up. Put on the already-covered-in-dog-hair pants (vs. keeping on the yet-to-be-maimed pants), the gross slippers (vs. the nice slippers I got for Christmas), and went out to great the Houseman, the Canine, and My Happy Sauce.
"You're supposed to be in bed."
Let me just snap a picture to brag, then I'm back to bed for some reading.
Then 5 minutes after I crawl into bed with a billion pillows behind my head to keep from nodding off again, the Man brings me coffee. In my FBI mug. Love.
It's not our anniversary. It's not that contrived Valentine's Day. It's not my birthday. It's just a random weekend that I'm loving because I'm getting pampered. Who wouldn't love this?
Oh, I feel so vicariously warm and fuzzy!
ReplyDeleteBreakfast and Happy Sauce (it's called Morning Nice Juice in our house, since it's what makes me nice-ish)? That's awesome! I'm totally missing my little omelet cooker. Nothing beats a husband who gets out of bed to make his wife breakfast on a Sunday morning.
ReplyDelete