On top of being a generally wonderful person, Ryan is exhausted today. It’s a Sunday, we have no real duties and in my heart, my highest priority of the day is to make this character comfortable and rested and in possession of every little thing that he could ever possibly want.
The fact of the matter is that I am constantly proud of him. I see how hard he works. I see that he gives 100% in every single thing that he does and then he comes home and he doesn’t take a break with me. You know how they say that you hurt the ones that you love the most? I have to say that I can’t relate to that. I have known Ryan for far beyond a decade and I have been dating him for about a year and a half and never once has he gotten exasperated with me. He’s never lost his temper or been anything but abundantly kind with me. Not even one time. It’s not in his character but more than that, I just know that he loves me. Every day I’m struck by what a blessed person I am to get to live this life with this person in it. There are no exaggerations, here. In fact, I feel like I’m underselling what a cool guy he is. But I won’t go on with that for fear of having you puke more than once.
Anyway, point being: I want to do something exceptionally nice for him. So I brainstorm something (hopefully) delicious for dinner. I make the couch extra comfy. Give him a glass of water, the remote, old episodes of The Office. “Relax,” I say. “Don’t move a muscle!” I drive off to the grocery store and feel like I am really finally nailing this Excellent Girlfriend thing. I am such a generous lady. My head was definitely inflated (as if “sit on my couch” is akin to “we’re leaving for Paris in an hour.”)
Gliding on sunshine, I gracefully take my time at the grocery store. Picking out the perfect vegetables and making use of my abundance of re-usable bags (I’m saving the whole planet, today!). When I get to the register, I realize that I’ve left my debit card at home and, like any modern woman, I am carrying four whole dollars in my billfold.
So, after hemming and hawing over ways to save my pride and my perishables, I decide that all I can really do is call him and ask him to root around through my house, find my debit card (which happened to be in the bathroom, of all places), and bring it to me at the grocery store. So much for, “put your feet up, don’t worry about a thing, I’ve got this.” I felt like a huge ass and I’m still probably more embarrassed than the situation called for.
All is not lost, though. He’s on hour two of a nap (completely unbothered by the amount of noise I make or my forgetfulness–typical). I have some chicken marinating and I’m researching how to pretend that my oven is actually a grill. The windows are open, I’m wearing stretch pants, and my billfold is properly stocked.
Ryan, I’m sorry for gushing about you on the internet. I can’t help it, I’m just extra happy today.