“You’re number one in my schedule.”
I took down the Christmas tree and now the living room is filled with boxes of Christmas decorations that need to go down to our storage unit beside the underground parking. Denny is asking me when I would like him to help me with this.
“Well, you could put it on your schedule,” I said. Last week he scheduled a couple of jobs I needed done for Friday. This week he scheduled going to IKEA to look for a wall unit for our TV for Saturday. We might have to reschedule because we’ve also agreed to babysit the grandkids.
“Or I could do it now,” Denny volunteered.
“And then you would’t have to check your schedule, or put it in your schedule.”
He came really close to me and looked in my eyes and told me that I was number one in his schedule.
We made three trips to get everything downstairs. We carried the first load down the hall and put it in the elevator and I suggested that I would hold the door while he went back for the remaining boxes.
“This is not right,” Denny muttered as he showed up with the next load. I smiled.
He came back with the last load, “You’re not supposed to hold the elevator unless you’re moving.” I simply pressed the button for parking level one.
I turned to him, “We’re moving. We’re moving our decorations.”
“You’re not supposed to do that. You’re not supposed to keep people waiting. Especially at this busy time.”
We took the boxes out of the elevator and then carried them to our storage cage.
“I was just thinking, if you didn’t keep them waiting you’d keep me waiting,” I told Denny.
It just makes sense to take everything in one trip. Besides, I don’t like waiting in the storage room until he gets back with more stuff. It’s my role to organize the storage compartment so that everything fits. Each year Denny is amazed that there is still space, including room for the big tree I insisted we get. He objected by saying we didn’t have room to store it. I made sure we did.
“Thanks for making dinner,” Denny calls to me from the kitchen when we are back upstairs and I’m setting the table. It’s turkey rice casserole.
“It’s just like I imagined it,” Denny tells me after the first bite.
For once it is neither soupy nor crunchy.
The turkey is really stretching. We planned this meal last night before bed so Denny was anticipating it. Denny loves his food. I didn’t realize how special this is for a wife until I met a woman whose husband was indifferent to food. If your man likes food, you can please him every day.