Tomorrow is “date lunch” day. My husband and I have been very fortunate to have worked next door to one another for the past few months, traveling to and from work and having lunch together most days. Wednesdays we have always reserved to be our date lunch. We might sit under the trees next to Lamport Stadium any other day, but on Wednesdays? We make an extra effort. It’s become a cute, predictable part of our routine, and it’s very rare that we’ve strayed from it.
This week however, he won’t be going in tomorrow as he is in between jobs, starting another within the next week. Instead of us taking a moment to breathe together, and connect as husband and wife, I’ll be eating lunch at my desk, while he stays home and probably fucks the girlfriend of the young man I’m seeing.
I can’t really define myself as mad or sad about it, but I am trying to reconcile this completely different activity with my internal, reliable, Wednesday lunch calendar. I am definitely a usual fan of change, but I’ve gotta’ admit, I do also like the predictability that these days would bring.
Having a long, drawn out argument earlier about some annoying, and normal, relationship issues, is not helping this happen as fast as it should.
Oh well. Here’s to lunch tomorrow. May it be delicious. For both of us. For obviously comPLETELY different reasons.
