S.O. came to see me this weekend and I cooked him an amazing Mexican feast. Made my favorite iteration of salsa thus far, adding lemon juice and chili powder. Used ground turkey. S.O. asked for Spanish rice; I’d prefer black beans, but he won out. And now we are super full and in bed by 9:30 and I’m listening to him snore rather loudly.
I was kind of wanting to make my sappy romantic post around Valentine’s day, but this year will be neither sappy nor romantic (by the conventional definition). The weekend of Valentine’s day (read: 17th through 19th) will probably be spent in pain. That is the weekend I will become the proud owner of an IUD. And, S.O. is coming with me to have it done, then tending to my needs that weekend.
If that ain’t romance, I don’t know what is.
Honestly, hands down, the most romantic things he does is not gift giving or physical affection or even the “I love you’s”. It’s what he does.
Back in May my lower back decided to give out on me on a Sunday. By the evening, I couldn’t walk. He drove an hour and a half to take me to the ER. He wheel chaired me in, helped me through triage, sat me down on the commode when I had to pee and helped me up when I was done (and also lost all my shame around him). He held my hand through the IV and 6 tubes of blood. And on the way home at 3am, he got me Whataburger whilst still stoned on the tramadol and valium they gave me at the ER. He called in the next day and took care of me by getting us Chinese takeout and rubbing this old lady prescription pain ointment on my lower back, hips, and butt.
That right there is love. No flowers, no candy, no grand romantic gestures.
The two things I love the most about S.O. is that he loves me enough to do all these wonderful things and be there when I need him and he is the one person in the world who always wants to touch my butt.