It had been one of THOSE days. I had been late for work, because I missed the bus, I had got yelled at by my boss, I had gotten into a fight with a co-worker, I had walked around all day with a run in the back of my pantyhose without knowing it, and as I walked home from the bus stop, in the pouring rain, I got soaked wet because I hadn't brought my umbrella with me.
I slammed the door behind me, and my boyfriend came out into the hallway to see what was wrong.
-Oh my god, what has happened to you? he said.
That's when I broke down and started to cry, and in between my sobbing, I told him in staccato about my rotten, stinking day. He listened without interrupting me, just helped me out of my wet coat, nodding and making affirmative grunts, and led me to the kitchen, sat me down on a chair, and rubbed my shoulders while everything just bubbled out of me. He didn't make any remarks, he just listened until I was through, and even then he didn't come with any stupid advice on what I should do. Instead, he put his arms around me and held me until I had stopped crying.
That's the great thing about him. He's not like other men, who cheerfully try to "help you take care of the problem" when you tell them about one. He listens, and shows his support – but he let's you take care of it yourself, like the big girl he knows you are. I suppose the fact that he has 5 sisters has something to do with it. He understands women.
Now, he squeezed my shoulders and told me to go and take off my wet clothes, and he would pour me a hot bath before he started making dinner. Gratefully, I followed his instructions, and a few minutes later, I stepped into a hot foam bath.
-I'll call for you when dinner's ready, he said.
I leaned back against the back of the tub, buried up to my chin with bubbles. The warm water revived my tired, frozen body, and my muscles got less and less tense. I listened to him moving about in the kitchen, grateful that he was doing this for me when it was supposed to be my turn to fix dinner. My body relaxed, and I was close to falling asleep when he came in and held up his fluffy bathrobe for me to put on. The material was a bit rough, like a towel. I tied it around me and went with him into the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and stared at the table. He had laid the table with our good china, and taken out every non-matching candlestick holder we had. Lit candles spread a warm, soft glow over the dark room, lighting up the table, the nice wine glasses, the bottles of soft drinks, and the steaming lasagna.
