My guy

Some days are bad days. It’s too cold, too rainy, too grey. My knee hurts, my hair is having one of its “let’s look like a pile of straw” days, there’s too much to do at work, there’s too much to do at home, and someone has eaten the last of the chocolate. (Oops! That was apparently me – last night)

The tea stews for too long, the toaster burns the bread and there’s no apricot jam. Son can’t find his pants, my leggings seem to have disappeared and WHY don’t I have one single pair of matching socks? One of those days when I am seriously tempted to crawl back into bed, pull the duvet over my head and drift off into hibernation.

We all have them, I suppose. Let me rephrase: I sincerely hope we all have them – not out of any ill-wish towards you, my dear readers, but because if it’s only me who has these days then I must consider the fact that there is something very wrong with me. Anyway: a bad day, a bad breakfast, a mood as foul as that of Macbeth’s wife at her very worst. Which is when the man in my life drops a kiss on my forehead and says “good morning, gorgeous.”

I know he’s lying. I don’t look gorgeous this early in the morning, and did I mention my hair was being uncooperative? My man just smiles and tells me I ALWAYS look gorgeous. Lie number two, but I can’t say I mind. In fact, I can feel the slightest of smiles tugging at my mouth.

Sometimes I worry I take him too much for granted, this man who has stood by me for more than thirty years, who always has my back. Things go ape-shit, and he’s there to help me sort the mess. I lose all faith in myself (happens a lot when you’re a writer, let me tell you) and he says all the right things.  The cake explodes in the oven (and let’s not go into how that could happen, okay?) and he gently shoves me aside and tells me he’ll fix it.

My guy pours out the bitter tea and makes a new pot. My guy throws away the burnt toast and offers me a fresh baguette. My guy produces my leggings, finds my errant socks and makes sure our son has pants on when he leaves. My man is a hero. My man is MINE. When he asks me what I want for X-mas, I can honestly paraphrase Mariah Carey and say “All I want for Christmas is you”. That makes him laugh, bend his head to murmur something indecent in my ear. And just like that, the last vestiges of my black mood are gone. This is a GREAT day – even if my hair still looks like crap.