This morning, Pete and I were going through our regular morning routine of getting the girls school-ready. We bathed bodies, fixed breakfasts, packed lunches, gathered backpacks. And through it all, Pete was his usual kind and smiling self, putting an arm around my shoulder as I stood at the sink; looking at me with his warm, chocolatey eyes; kissing me on the temple before he walked out the door to drive the girls to school.
Then I walked into the bathroom, where I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Oh, my.
Yes, Yumi Lee subjected me to an especially sadistic workout this morning (I actually hissed at the television, “I hate you.”). Well, my appearance had not exactly held up under the pressure. I had mascara circles under my eyes. My nose, for some reason, was an intriguing shade of red. To say that my hair was “askew” would be an insult to the word.
I’d had no clue, from the way Pete had looked at me and treated me all morning, that I was so appalling. He didn’t hold me at bay with a long stick or even avert his eyes when I spoke to him. I truly don’t think he’d even noticed.
So, either Pete is severely farsighted, or I look like that every morning and he’s grown accustomed to it.
When he came back home after dropping off the girls (I’d done some quick-fixing by this time), I had to laugh. He hadn’t shaved, his hair was–well, it was askew–and he was wearing a wrinkled old brown flannel shirt. I, truly, hadn’t noticed.
Old love rocks.