Last week was an entirely stressful and miserable kind of week.
I didn’t really share much of it here, because I expect you all get a little tired of hearing me whine. Plus, some of it was personal.
Still, by Friday night I was exhausted, emotional, and just generally a disaster of epic proportions. It was Art’s turn to plan our date night, and I have to admit I wasn’t very excited because all I really wanted to do was go to sleep.
My husband knows me well, though, and he knew all about my terrible week and the stress and the tiredness and the fact that I felt like collapsing. So he had planned a spa night.
I laid on the couch and he rubbed my back and neck and arms and shoulders and legs and feet and hands with lotion which later made his eyes get all puffy and allergic. He lit a candle and played relaxing music and even painted my toenails.
And then– I woke up.
I had fallen asleep on the couch for an hour.
So I went to bed.
And it was wonderful.
Sometimes the simplest things mean the most.