Tonight we watched Even Almighty for date night--we neither one wanted to go out. Cute movie--TV Guardian did bleep out a few words but not much. I told Phil I wanted to sit on the couch with him while we watched. I forgot.
I made popcorn with browned butter--mine with nutritional yeast--his with just salt--see my cookbook for the popcorn info. We ate and watched and laughed. Then I remembered I wanted to sit close to him, not in our recliners--which I am sure belong in "the home"--when did we succumb to recliners, I wonder. I put my hand on his arm rest. He put his hand over mine, squeezed a bit and we settled in to watch the rest of the movie. This is nice, I thought.
Soon the top of my hand got sweaty. Then it started to itch. What to do? What to do?
I very slyly pulled my hand away, scratched the top of it, pulled the sleeve of my sweater down over it and put my hand back. Phil's hand settled over mine.
"What's this?" he said, picking up the sleeve of my sweater.
"My hand got sweaty. Then it itched."
He sighed, put his hand back over my seater'd one and that was that. So much for romance in the family room.
Which reminds me of earlier today. We had gone to run errands. I went into the craft store. He sat in the car. He hates craft stores. He hates fabric stores. I hate hardware stores. I think we're even.
When I came out I stowed my purchases in the back seat and when I got in front he leaned over and said, "Give me a kiss." He had a little smile on his face. I was immediately suspicious.
"Just do it. Give me a kiss."
I kissed him on the cheek.
"Give me a real kiss, on the lips."
I couldn't' bring myself to do it. I thought he was "up to something."
I badgered him and finally he sighed and said, "I've been watching all the people coming out of the craft store. They didn't look very good. They looked sad. Then you came out and I was so happy that you were my wife and now you won't even give me a kiss."
I missed my chance for a tender moment. So much for romance in the parking lot.