I realize as I write this blog entry that I'm going to make Wine Guy look like a saint. From the little he has read of this blog, this is what he dislikes the most - that he comes across far better than he actually is. I don't disagree with this. In fact, I often wish you all knew the non-saintly things WG does every single day. Like clip the dead skin on his heels in the dining room. Or ask me for the millionth time "Guess what?" just so he can reply "Chickenbutt."
But, alas, I made a promise to myself (and to him) way back when I first told him about this blog that he need not worry - this blog was about ME. Not about HIM. So I try to keep things limited to how I feel, react, agonize, analyze over things in my life. Yes, they often relate to him, but I try to keep my bitching about him specifically to a bare minimum. Why should he have to be any more careful than a boyfriend of someone who doesn't have a blog (does anyone not have a blog anymore?)
So, back to Wine Guy's sainthood.
He left this morning to visit his parents in Texas for a few days. Over our 2+ years together, we've been apart quite a bit, but it's usually me that goes out of town for work or to visit friends. He's a bit of homebody.
Last night I had plans with a friend that left me only about 45 minutes to eat at home before I had to leave again. He volunteered to cook dinner for us and have it ready by the time I got home from work. Wine Guy loves to cook but he doesn't do it as often as either of us would like. We tend to eat out during the week. (Bad, bad, I know). So this was a nice little domestic surprise.
By the time I came home he had the sumi salad made (our new favorite) and was grilling spicy asian chicken. As usual, everything was delicious but it wasn't until I got home later that night that he really surprised me.
"Here's the leftover chicken," he says as he holds up the Tupperware before placing it in the fridge. "Don't forget to eat it while I'm gone." I'm notorious for forgetting what we have to eat in the house since I very rarely cooked all those years I lived alone. As far as I'm concerned, a refrigerator is for keeping your drinks cold.
Another Tupperware container. "And I made tons of the sumi salad so that should feed you for the rest of the week."
Another, bigger container this time. "And I cut up that pineapple so make sure you eat that in the next day or two."
Hey, I got no problem with that.
"Oh, and I forgot. We've got that leftover mushroom polenta I made this weekend." He then proceeds to explain how to reheat it in the pan with a little oil.
He continues to rummage through the refrigerator finding more goodies to keep me fat and happy. Marinated mushrooms. Balsamic chicken. Leftovers from the long weekend.
I was relieved knowing I wouldn't have to scramble for lunch and dinner the rest of the week. And I was wishing we did more smart cooking and eating like this when Wine Guy was actually going to be in town.
But then I remembered. This is how Wine Guy tells me that he loves me.
He's not the most affectionate of guys. He often needs to be prodded for a welcome home hug. Sometimes I will grab his hand while we're walking and force him to hold mine for a few minutes. I remind him to tell me that he loves me. After awhile, all of this can make me feel a little neglected.
But then he does something like this and it's like a swift kick in the rear. I remember that he's not a typical guy. That's why I love him. So I have to love the atypical ways he chooses to show that he loves me too. And for a girl that likes to eat, I have to say this is a pretty good alternative to public displays of affection. No?