I have a pot of chili simmering. Keith is playing war games and I am listening to The Eagles with headphones on. I can still hear the rapid gun fire and wide spread devastation coming from the living room.
I knew it was a chancy thing, setting up my little office in the "den" area. It was always a toss up between nice, little area but no door vs. dark little bedroom with some sound protection. What I didn't count on was Keith working only half days, so I spend much of mine with auditory headgear firmly in place.
Last night another thunderstorm blew through, ripping leaves off by the scores and throwing them into the pool. Keith ran out into the wind whipped patio to turn the hamburgers we had foolishly decided to grill but minutes before the story blew up, with green egg skies and fat drops of flung rain. They were very tasty hamburgers, despite the fact that we have no gutters and the rain water simply sweeps down in sheets from the roof, right onto the top of the grill. There was some added flavor to those hamburgers, that's for sure.
Yesterday, as we waited at the top of the third isle, an hour and a half into our box sale marathon crawl, I tried to decipher the total amount of calories within one, forty four cent packet of potato chips.
"Do you really want to be eating..." (long pause, as my eyes rolled heavenward, mentally counting on fingers) "...over six hundred calories at one go?"
Keith just grinned.
"What?" I asked, knowing that grin. "You aren't smiling at my math skills, are you?"
"I love you, you little kitten," was all he said.
I suspect he was.