I settle on Briz.
It's been years, years, and years since we've had a night alone. I fill my hours with special times for the family as a whole, but not since the children have joined our lives have I given my time and preparations for him.
3:00 p.m. --Happily, I go to the store. I comb through recipe books to find a spectacular meal. I plan decorations. I burn some of my precious music edges for ambiance. I vacume, dust, put away childrens' clutter. I snip and glue, then spend an hour coming up with the perfect meaningful message for my home made card. It takes three tries on the caramel rum sauce before I get one that isn't scorched.
As it gets later and later I prepare ambiance in the bedroom. I play romantic music from Chris Botti. . . . .then romantic love songs. . . . . then Carpenter's Love Songs. I make a special coconut lime drink. It gets later and later. My hypoglycemia is rearing. I'm going to be sick.
8:37 p.m. phone rings. He cannot get away from an operation. I should go ahead and eat without him. "No worries." I say. I blow out the candles, pull out leftovers from the fridge and plop them on a plastic plate. My body aches from the rush of activity and lack of food.
I giggle. I wish I had someone with which to share my funny evening. I laugh for three reasons. Number one, it's been years since I've been stood up like this. It's rather youth giving. Number two, it seems an odd way to spend my precious night alone. Number three, I realize that though I did not romanticly fill my husband's cup, I filled my own. I spent five to six hours focused on my husband- I thought of my feelings for him, of his pleasure at all my preparations, of all the questions that have gone unasked the past 12 years, of all the service that he deserves from my hand.
Other than the sugar low, I feel happy. I served my sweetie. No, he doesn't know about it. No, he did not benefit, but I did.