a good day

Yesterday was a pretty good day. I worked, and he made dinner last night instead of me doing it. First time since the holidays. On Thanksgiving and Christmas, he cooked most of what we made. The turkey, the ham...I think it's because he's so fussy about how the meat turns out.

But yesterday he made Sylvia's Mac & Cheese.

He said he's losing his taste for it because it is too fatty. I didn't think those words would EVER come out of his mouth. He goes out of his way to find the fat to eat. He loves fat. Butter, bacon grease, mayonnaise, you name it.

Anyway, I digress. I got home, helped him after his shower, and we went to the store to use our gift cards that we got for Christmas. Barnes & Noble cards, mind you.

The thing that baffled me...the other night, we had planned to go there, and it got to be 7:00 pm. Oh, it was too late. By the time we got there, he said, it would be 8 pm. And then by the time you pick out books to look at, it's 9 pm, he says. And then you have to rush looking through them to decide which ones you want.

Last night, it was prolly quarter to eight before we left. But that was okay. How does that work? He's so emphatic the one night that it's too late. Last night, it's almost an hour later, and it was just fine. Didn't even come up. Go figure.

So we were talking about cooking, and about a couple books he had picked up, and the conversation was friendly. I can enjoy the times when he is relaxed and not angry, but I just don't trust him enough to have an intimate conversation. About anything. That's too bad it is that way. It is what it is, I guess.