When Jeff left for class Monday morning I felt like a married woman, hubby going off to work, me heading off to my own job. We would return for dinner and spend a lovely night together. Was that what married life would be like?
I should have remembered I'd never seen that in my house.
I got home early in the afternoon after visiting the bookstore.
It was just another school year. Nobody had classes all day long, except possibly Jeff.
I did some of my reading, listened to some music and daydreamed. This was a lot like last semester except I was thinking about it differently.
A little after Dr. Phil came on at 5:00, I got some gumbo out of the fridge, put it in a small pot on a low flame and settled in to watch.
Jeff came home around 5:30 lugging a heavy collection of books, muttering to himself. He put them down and met me half way, taking me in his arms for a yummy kiss.
"That's better," he said.
"Than what?"
"Than my day. I've read the essence of the material we're covering but the professors insist on going over it the way it's laid out by their favorite authors. Probably guys with whom they have reciprocal agreements to use what the other wrote."
"Hungry?" I asked. "I made some very tasty chicken gumbo for us."
He feigned annoyance.
"I reheated some very tasty chicken gumbo for us." I smiled sweetly.
He squeezed me with more strength than I knew he had.
"This is what I get to come home to," he said. "It's all good."
After dinner I suggested some hanky panky.
"Let me get an idea of how much work I have to do and we can use it as a break later," said Jeff.
"How romantic."
