Do you ever take a fanciful flight of imagination and wonder what life would be like if it were different?
I know, that’s a broad statement. Bear with me.
This past Saturday, as I spent the day deep in the satisfaction of chopping and mixing and prepping and cooking, pulling together a fabulous Thanksgiving dinner, the Husband was shivering on the couch, caught in the grip of a cold that pulled him deep into a fever by the end of the night. I may have babied him a little bit, catered to his every need – a cup of tea, a snack, disciplining the puppy so he didn’t have to, tucking the blanket a little tighter around his feet. I did my best to spoil him.
I’m sure you can see where this is going. Two days later, the tables were turned. I was the one coming home early from work to lay out on the couch and not move because my head felt like it was ripping itself in half and the congestion in my sinuses was doubling with every moment that passed. He made me hot chocolate (with Kahlua!) and a leftover-chicken sandwich, then let me pick the movies for the night. He even walked the dogs this morning, cheerfully taking my turn so I and my oversized head could rest for an extra 45 minutes.
I love this man.
But what if my life were different? I would be suffering through this cold on my own.
(Actually, if you want to be really nit-picky, in reality, I wouldn’t be suffering through this cold at all. No doubt, though, I would suffer through a cold at some point. And I would be doing it on my own.)
Probably, I would survive. In all likelihood, I would even be mostly happy. Maybe I would have a living room like this: