May 7, 2012

My dearest,

We’ve had a long day. Driving from one place to another, errands to run, shopping to do, movies that we miss (an unexpected full house), slow and satisfying meals… it’s a pretty perfect little Sunday.

Now we are back home. It’s late in the evening and it doesn’t seem like we’ll be having dinner. “I’m too full,” you say.

“Me too,” I confess.

“Let’s do sit-ups!”

“Sit-ups?”

“We should. We must. Look at our guts!”

I do look and discover I’m unable to disagree. So we roll out my little-used yoga mat and we sit down on it, our ankles interlocking. We huff and we puff. We lift and we crunch. And soon…

“Ouch.”

“Ouch?”

“I think I’ve sprained my abs.”

“You can’t have sprained your abs.”

“Why not? I have, I tell you.”

“For one thing, you don’t actually have any visible abs – it’s all flab…”

Strange that someone who’s supposedly injured (from an abdominal sprain, no less) could get up so quickly and chase me around our living room. Ah. Miracles never cease.

We shower. We get cleaned up. Once we are dressed, you take the ripe mango out of the fridge and start peeling the skin off. You will cut and cube it. I break eggs into a bowl, whisk it with fish sauce, lime juice and freshly cracked black pepper to make my version of a Thai omelette.

It’s late, this is sort of an impromptu supper. Who needs to go out and dine? Who needs a pack of Maggi mee? We can figure something out. We always do. It’s a good day. It always is. We make it so.

We sit down and we eat.

“How’s the omelette?” I ask.

“A little salty, but good. Especially with the sweet mango.”

I smile. It’s good, it’s all good.

Yours, ever and always.