Thursday was a miserable day for my husband. In the aftermath of his back injury, he is unable to return to his job and is on disability for a bit. Sadly for him, his disability insurance requires him to apply for Social Security as well. Thursday was our interview day at the Social Security office.
We sat together with our stack of paperwork and began answering questions about his work history, his level of pay, his injury and surgery dates and the like. While giving the details regarding our number of dependents and their ages, the agent commented that she is accustomed to interviewing retired folks. She had never done a family before. I didn't realize it at that moment, but her phrasing had struck my sweet Mister's heart. Everything he has worked for, all that he thought our lives were going to be has changed and he can't fix it. Something broke inside him.
The agent and I were busy with my portion of the questions when I caught sight of my husband's odd posture out of the corner of my eye. Turning to look at him, I saw that he was holding his head in one hand and his eyes were closed. This was not good.
My husband is never, ever not strong. He's never so upset by a situation that he can't laugh his way through it or at least see the silver lining. Head in his hands with closed eyes? Oh, God. This was tantamount to a full tilt breakdown for him.
I thought of my foodie friend. Squeezing hubby's hand and sending him out for coffee while I finished the interview, I resolved that to help reestablish his equilibrium, I would treat my man to a great steak dinner and great sex. 'Cause red meat and sex possess the power to cure anything, right?
We cleared the rest of the day. I dropped Mister off at home so he and the kids could go out on the boat and enjoy a sunny, summer afternoon together. I went to the grocery store and in no time I had all the makings for a succulent, beefy dinner that would raise my hubby's spirits. Oh--and speaking of spirits, since it has been a pretty crappy year and a half for me too, I dropped by the liquor store.
I frequently joke about a good margarita being my cure-all, but the truth is that I rarely drink. So hubby was a little surprised when he came up off the boat to find me with a blender full of booze in the middle of the afternoon.
My neighbor and I sat on the deck and enjoyed a couple. Then my older son joined us for one. Later--but the details get a little fuzzy at this point--I think my daughter may have talked me into letting her "sample" a little bit too.
Somewhere between the third blender full and waiting for the sun to go down before firing up the BBQ, I laid down on the couch for a quick nap. I tried to open my eyes after about a half an hour, but the couch felt all twirly and I thought maybe I needed to rest a bit more.
By about 11ish, hubby shook me awake to tell me he was going out with his best friend for a bit. I must have asked him if he'd saved me any dinner because I remember the look on his face as he stood over me asking, "Excuse me? You cooked something?"
At three in the morning Mister came to join me in bed. (How did I end up in bed anyway?) He made some sort of advance toward me. I kicked him. Politely, of course.
Let's check the score, shall we?
- Great steak dinner--not so much.
- Great sex--ummm . . .