One of the best husbands I have ever had is definitely Ben. Ben who got up this morning (early-early) and got cereal for us on a tray and put Netflix on the laptop and propped it up so we could snuggle in late. We spent a couple of hours slowly finishing two huge bowls of Honeycombs with chocolate milk because he's insane and we watched cooking shows, because so am I.
Chocolate milk in cereal is terrible. Also Honeycombs are huge. I gave up trying to fit them in my face and ate them like cookies, picking them up one at a time to take bites of while we marvelled over the cinematography of the new season of Chef's Table, which I am struggling to finish (yeah..still). I think it's because this season they're really focusing on the personal trials of each chef to the point that the food is not even a second thought but a distant memory instead. Only there's no character development so I don't exactly care and my mind wanders and I have to re-watch.
Ben is barely watching it at all. He is watching me while he easily fits multiple Honeycombs in his mouth at once. He has a large mouth to go with his entire oversized being. Someone once joked that I was a third of a Ben, proper but I think it's more like precisely half. Either way he makes up a lot of ground on my behalf these days and took Lochlan's cheap opportunity to make up his own ground and threw it out the window.
Either make your huge sweeping gestures all the damn time or fuck off, Lochlan was told. This just makes things worse.
And true to form, Lochlan fucked off. Because he is flighty and fancy and full of fire as much as he is pragmatic and he also has a pride problem and so he went off to lick his wounds and Ben took the opportunity the moment it presented itself.
I need to get dressed, I tell Ben, licking my spoon. He will drink the leftover milk. I'm lactose intolerant anyway and not a big fan of chocolate milk, or even cereal but I am a huge fan of Ben. The biggest smallest fan of his that ever was.
For what? He asks, letting his forehead knit. He sounds cross at the thought of anything breaking this momentary, wonderful spell.
It's my turn to clean bathrooms.
Let each of them clean their own. He orders.
And ours.
The kids can do theirs.
And ours, I repeat.
We'll make Lochlan do it.
Seriously. Besides, it's cold right now, without clothes on.
Ben reaches down and grabs his t-shirt off the floor. He turns it rightside out and puts it over my head, pulling it down over me. Whitechapel. Right on.
There. Now you're dressed.
This will be a good look while I do my chores.
I told you, we're leaving them for Lochlan. We're going to stay in bed all day and watch television and be regular people.
We're so NOT regular peop-
WE CAN TRY.
Chocolate milk in cereal is terrible. Also Honeycombs are huge. I gave up trying to fit them in my face and ate them like cookies, picking them up one at a time to take bites of while we marvelled over the cinematography of the new season of Chef's Table, which I am struggling to finish (yeah..still). I think it's because this season they're really focusing on the personal trials of each chef to the point that the food is not even a second thought but a distant memory instead. Only there's no character development so I don't exactly care and my mind wanders and I have to re-watch.
Ben is barely watching it at all. He is watching me while he easily fits multiple Honeycombs in his mouth at once. He has a large mouth to go with his entire oversized being. Someone once joked that I was a third of a Ben, proper but I think it's more like precisely half. Either way he makes up a lot of ground on my behalf these days and took Lochlan's cheap opportunity to make up his own ground and threw it out the window.
Either make your huge sweeping gestures all the damn time or fuck off, Lochlan was told. This just makes things worse.
And true to form, Lochlan fucked off. Because he is flighty and fancy and full of fire as much as he is pragmatic and he also has a pride problem and so he went off to lick his wounds and Ben took the opportunity the moment it presented itself.
I need to get dressed, I tell Ben, licking my spoon. He will drink the leftover milk. I'm lactose intolerant anyway and not a big fan of chocolate milk, or even cereal but I am a huge fan of Ben. The biggest smallest fan of his that ever was.
For what? He asks, letting his forehead knit. He sounds cross at the thought of anything breaking this momentary, wonderful spell.
It's my turn to clean bathrooms.
Let each of them clean their own. He orders.
And ours.
The kids can do theirs.
And ours, I repeat.
We'll make Lochlan do it.
Seriously. Besides, it's cold right now, without clothes on.
Ben reaches down and grabs his t-shirt off the floor. He turns it rightside out and puts it over my head, pulling it down over me. Whitechapel. Right on.
There. Now you're dressed.
This will be a good look while I do my chores.
I told you, we're leaving them for Lochlan. We're going to stay in bed all day and watch television and be regular people.
We're so NOT regular peop-
WE CAN TRY.