This isn’t a normal Tuesday morning. On normal Tuesday mornings, my cheeks don’t flush pink without blush. On normal Tuesday mornings, I don’t have breakfast before work. Breakfast of a toasted muffin with melted cheese and a perfectly basted egg and a tomato thrown in for good measure. A delicious breakfast that is ready before I am dressed and made up for work because it is prepared by a delicious tall man with wild, curly hair and a wild disposition too.

Sure, I made the same weeknight staple dinner of guacamole and sardines on toast and a salad of shaved cauliflower with honey-roasted walnuts. And sure, I watched the Daily Show and Key & Peele as I always do. But on normal weeknights, I cook alone without being stopping frequently to kiss someone. And on normal weeknights, my dirty dishes from the previous night are not already washed and dried and neatly arranged on the counter by a man with a certain amount of good manners.

On normal Tuesday mornings, I don’t go to work with 4 hours of sleep despite actually having gone to bed by 10.30. No, normal Monday nights tend to not be so reckless, so wild and quite so memorable.


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