Switching the Water Bottle

It's a SNOW DAY. Life is good.

I'm sure Valentine's Day has a different meaning for everyone. Romance doesn't have to mean a candelit dinner, hands intertwined, champagne and strawberries. Sometimes, it's the simple things.

We both keep bottles of water by our beds. I keep one because I have hot flashes in the night which often require a liberal application of cold water (sometimes I'm tempted to actually throw it on my body), covers thrown off and the fan tilted so it will blow on my sweaty, annoyingly menopausal body. Tom keeps one because he has allergies and takes medicine which can cause a dry mouth. And because he just gets thirsty sometimes.

I make the beds in our house. I don't mind doing it. I like a made bed. I make mine up every morning. I arrange the pillows just so and fold my pajamas neatly by the pillow. It pleases me when I get ready to get in the bed and it is smooth and fresh and ready for me. So, if the water bottles are empty, I get fresh ones. Usually, I'll just carry mine in the kitchen in the morning, put it in the recycling bin and get a fresh one. But since Tom has his own bedroom and own bed (I adore my husband but the snoring finally got to me after 20 years), I may not notice his water bottle is empty until the weekend or a day off when I change the sheets and make his bed. If his water bottle is empty, I take it in the kitchen, put it in the recycling bin and get him a fresh one. He rarely, if ever, gets his own bottle of water. We don't talk about it.

I suppose some feminists would have a field day with this one. But when Liz switched cars with me the other night so they could borrow my little red truck, she left the car outside. Tom put it in the garage for me, so I wouldn't have to go outside in the cold in the morning. Didn't complain, just did it.

So I switch his water bottle for him. I switch his water bottle because I love him.

It's pretty simple really.