"Oh no," I said.
"What is it?" he asked. After 17 years, he has much experience managing my big emotions. The oceanic melancholies, the fiery indignant tirades, the anxieties tight enough to strangle happiness.
He awaited news of a problem with our children, or some friend's bad luck, or the refrigerator building up ice again.
"I've developed my first age spot," I lamented.
"Where? Let me see," he replied solemnly.
When I held up the back of my hand so he could inspect the new brown stain, he took it gently in his, and kissed my imperfection.
"What is it?" he asked. After 17 years, he has much experience managing my big emotions. The oceanic melancholies, the fiery indignant tirades, the anxieties tight enough to strangle happiness.
He awaited news of a problem with our children, or some friend's bad luck, or the refrigerator building up ice again.
"I've developed my first age spot," I lamented.
"Where? Let me see," he replied solemnly.
When I held up the back of my hand so he could inspect the new brown stain, he took it gently in his, and kissed my imperfection.
 |
| Photo by Min An via Pexels |
Comments
Post a Comment