Are You Mad at Me?

Yesterday morning after M got up, he asked me if I was mad at him.

I’d been dozing sleeping on the couch when he woke up [Look, when you get up at 2 AM and don’t fall back asleep until 5? You sleep while the boys watch Disney Jr. Do not judge me.] and he got downstairs and fed the boys breakfast. When I woke up, the first thing he asked me was “Are you mad at me?”

I’m pretty sure I blinked at him a few times, asked him what the eff he was talking about, then blinked at him a few more times.

Then he handed me my wedding band.

He’d woken up, turned over, and found it lying in the middle of my spot in our bed. He thought I was mad at him and prepared to leave him. Which would have been super ironic, as I moved in with him on October 31, 2004.

I guess it’s a lot looser than it has been in the past four years. That could be due to the amount of water I’ve been drinking, or the fact that I’m losing weight now that I’m actually running.

I kind of giggle every time I think of him assuming that because my ring was in the middle of the bed, I was angry with him. Later he joked that if I were really leaving him, I rather throw it in his face. I mean . . . If the shoe fits, right?

For the record, I do not wish to throw my ring at my husband. Nor do I wish to leave him. He looked so sad when he asked if I was mad at him.

I love my rings. I love them.

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