"How can you love me if you don't know...

...how I feel about soup?" I asked Mr. Jenny.

It was 4:38 am.

I had awakened because I was darned closed to freezing. We had forgotten to turn the furnace on overnight again and it gotten down in the low 30's...

brrrrr...

So...

Of course I woke up and, of course, the first thing that came to mind was soup.


Actually it was the second thing that came to mind.

No.

Not that.

I'm old.

And it was cold.

The first thing that came to mind was to put my icy cold hands on Mr. Jenny's back to a) remind him that HE forgot to turn the furnace on overnight and to b) wake him up so he would talk to me.

After he yelped in delight and kind of snarled at me I knew he would be receptive to a cozy conversation tucked into our flannel sheeted, flannel quilted bed.

"So..." I said in a sweet and cuddly voice, "You don't even know if I like soup."

And he said, "Huh?"

And I said, "Seriously, how can you love me if you don't know if I like soup or not."

And he said, "Ummm...okaaaay. Yeah. You like soup. Now go back to sleep."

He attempted to turn over.

I refused to let him wiggle out of the conversation.

"Prove it. What kind of soup do I like."

He made a noise halfway through a snort of disgust and a swear word, but I was not so easily distracted from the subject at hand.

"What kind?" I challenged.

"Ummm...does this matter right now? Seriously? Do we have to talk about soup before 5 am?"

I almost let him off the hook, but then I replied, "Yes, yes we do. This is just another indicator that I love you more and that..."

He sighed.

Deeply.

"How, pray tell, does not knowing about soup mean you love me more?"

I sighed.

Deeply.

"Geez, keep up. Okay. I know that YOU like clam chowder and chili but you don't like soups that are well...ummm... soupier. And I know that YOU don't like that RED kind of clam chowder and only like the WHITE kind of clam chowder. See? See?"


He sighed again.

Even more deeply.

That guy really knows how to oxygenate his blood, I tell ya.

"Jenny. You like soup but NOT clam chowder of any color. Okay. So there! Now be quiet."

...

...

Was that an answer? I think not.

But far be it from me to intrude upon a husband who obviously loves me less than I love him and who is more interested in sleeping than discussing soup before 5 am.

So I huffed out of bed.

But he didn't notice because he went back to sleep.

Sigh...

So I wandered around the freezing house feeling a bit sorry for myself.

I muttered things like, "My next husband is going to know if I like soup or not. My next husband is going to remember to turn the furnace on. I think I'll google a recipe for RED clam chowder."

I paced and I shivered.

I shivered and paced.

I realized there was a small, infinitesimal possibility that I might have gone just a wee bit too far off on a tangent.

It was 5:09 am.

I was freezing.

I climbed back into bed with Mr. Snorey.

And just to teach him a lesson, I put my cold hands on my back.

You know.

So I could snuggle a bit closer.

Sigh...