I told you last week that I am acting like I have six months to live (for those of you who didn’t read that post, I am not really dying). How’s it going?
One of the things I wanted to do as a pretend dying person was to let Hunny know that I love him more than anything and anyone outside of God. I am not a morning person. I am a sleeping person who loves sleep. We sleep in on the weekends to make up for the week. Saturday, Hunny got up and asked me if I would make breakfast “in a little while,” which usually means whenever I roll out of bed. I laid there for a second and thought, “If I had six months to live, I would get up and make my wonderful husband a yummy breakfast.” “You can sleep when you’re dead,” is a well known expression, right?
Well, it should be, “If you don’t sleep and you’re in a crabby mood, people are going to wish you were dead.” Tired, sensitive me plus hungry, cranky Hunny equals disaster.
Let me set the scene for you. The night before, I had frozen fish on top of the toaster oven, and a ride down the street with Hunny turned into a romp about town and picking up dinner out. Hours later, Hunny noticed the fish and the fish juice had dripped into the toaster oven. Yay. He wiped down the toaster oven for me, and by morning I had forgotten all about it.
We had exactly two English muffins in the freezer. Those being Hunny’s favorite, I thought they would make a perfect centerpiece for my love’s breakfast. I popped them in the toaster oven and went into the other room. Hunny yells to me, “You’re using the toaster oven? What about the fish?” I come into the room and smell my mistake. I was upset. Hunny was upset. Not the loving breakfast for which I’d hoped.
Another thing I wanted to do was to spend more time with friends. A friend of mine was free to get together this Saturday. We were orginally getting together in the morning, but then we had to switch to late afternooon. I had to check with my family first because they were going to have a cookout. Well, Dad didn’t know when the cookout would be and my mom had other things on her mind. Long story short, the cookout didn’t happen and I didn’t see my friend either.
Leaving scripts behind for Hunny was another goal of my six months to live. I have written three pages, since I started my experiment not counting what I am writing today. Score one for me! Finally!