This morning, my dear, sweet, handsome, love-of-my-life husband and I were arguing. We exchanged some harsh words (mostly on my account…but, for the record, he started it)…(yes, I know, I sound like a preschooler…sorry…just sharing what really happened). Anyway, in the midst of said argument, I was sectioning and flat-iron curling my hair as he, being ready for work, proceeded down the stairs with a quick goodbye over his shoulder.
Then, I remembered a question that I needed to ask him.
I left the confines of my bathroom to reach the landing over the staircase while holding the uncurled section of dark hair in my fingers, and I looked at him just as his hand reached to turn the handle on the door.
(For reference, the staircase looks like this:)
He turned back to look at me, still holding the door knob, and asked, “Have we kissed yet?”
In my frustration (and half-joking), I quipped, “No. We don’t do that anymore.”
As I stood among the railing slats, my (gorgeous) husband released the cold door handle and began to take each step, one at a time, climbing up to reach me.
I leaned over the railing to meet his gaze.
His lips felt warm and smooth, like a distant memory, one I wished to live and relive again and again.
He whispered something softly near my cheek, kissed me again, and headed down the steps once more off to the business of his day while I stood, still holding the uncurled hair in my hand, basking in the romance of the moment.
Thankfully, we put our argument to rest. (It was silly, anyway…as most of them are.)
And, I am hopeful that this experience won’t follow Shakespeare’s immortal love story exactly. I don’t want to die anytime soon.