Putting My Man to Work

After a lovely Friday night of wild dateliness (Cheescake Factory for dinner, then Burn After Reading move--weird, but entertaining), we'd agreed to go for a 6-mile run first thing Saturday.

But come 7:30 Saturday morning, the alarm seemed a shrill and terrible beast, incarnate with screaming evil. I did what I usually do in these cases, and turned the alarm off, snuggling back into the warm cocoon of covers. By 8:30, we were up, and the tasks of the day still waiting. By 9:00, Jared was off to fix a coworker's Internet while I read romance over two and a half cups of coffee. (It was gripping. He was an assassin, about to retire from his playboy ways. She was a feisty redhead who happened to own a funeral home.) By noon, I was painting more of our yellowish house trim (thankfully done at last) and moping about whether the run was, after all, to be, while he dug the backyard up and laid each heavy patio tile. By 4:00, he'd laid all but one tile that hadn't survived the trip from Home Depot.

Next up? Apple picking and pumpkins. Our mission turned into apples and one glorious pumpkin from a scenic roadside stand, where I voiced my disappointment about the lack of trees holding the apples. Jared, stoic, nodded, and gently reminded me he'd given me a full preview of the farmstand.

Back to Home Depot for a tile, plus a $20 splurge on a tiny (but scarily efficient) vacuum cleaner. Home, where I painted one baby blue window a clean shade of white, while Jared dug up dirt to lay the last tile.

My tired man at last inside-- still sweet as pie and wanting me to be happy, changing into his running clothes, despite cramped hands and a stiff back.

We parked at Shaws, knowing there was still work to do--a birthday present (luckily nearby Pier 1 was open until 9:00 p.m., just enough time to squeeze in some miles) and groceries. While smoking the run, we discussed...what else? Food. And Beer.

Upon arriving back at Pier 1 after what turned out to be more like 4.5 miles, Jared headed to the liquor store to grab a six-pack while I shopped for a birthday present for a friend. After wandering about the store for at least 30 minutes (and making several inappropriate jokes about underage children workers in foreign factories, I began to suspect that my beloved had headed to the grocery store without me.

Not so. I found him in the parking lot, taking a much-deserved rest. Sitting in the car approximately one block from home. Drinking a cold Harp.

What's a girl to do but join?