As you may have read, last week kicked my rear up one side and down the other…and then spit on me for good measure. However, I did have a bright spot or two in all the angst of work, sick heathens, sand-filled purses and mysteriously open front doors (which my husband confessed to doing by the way).
Late one night, as my husband and I settled into bed, a Taco Bell commercial came on, and I blurted out, “Man, I really want a Mexican Pizza.”
This was really out of character for me. One, I already had dinner and it was fairly big dinner at that. Two, I certainly don’t eat late at night, and I really don’t eat fast food at all anymore. I like my skinny-jeans too much to trade them for food that tastes gross more often than it tastes good. However, after a few hellish days and a bucket of tears, I had the sudden, perverse urge for that Mexican Pizza.
I guess my husband knew how badly I must have wanted it, because he jumped out of bed, slapped on his shoes and made the proverbial run for the border. Ten minutes later, he returned with three Mexican Pizzas and a bag of hot sauce. Even though it was after 10:00, we dove in and had a little Taco Bell picnic in our bed.
I know it must sound silly (and faintly nauseating as I type this at 8:00 in the morning), but I have to say that his late-night Mexican Pizza run was really romantic. After ten years of living together, romance goes beyond flowers, dates or other clichés. Romance is sometimes the little, unexpectedly thoughtful things that pop up just when you need them. While I never would have gotten out of bed at 10:00 to procure myself impulsive, diet-killing junk food, he knew that I needed something so simply indulgent in order to feel soothed, a little rebellious and back in control.
He’s a sweetheart like that.