Dommes have bad days. We have work problems, kid problems, money issues, all manner of usual problems that come with being a responsible adult. There isn’t much that a perfectly worded message from Iris can’t make better, even on days like today, when I can’t decide if I want to hit something, cry, or a combination of both.
We’re going to watch Shaun of the Dead together. I’ll make popcorn. We’ll make a his and hers beer run to the liquor store down the street so we can both have the kinds we want for the weekend. We’re going to hold hands, and cuddle, and sink into my couch. We’ll wrap up with my green blanket, I had it for all of college, and now both Iraq tours. It’s going to be nice and clean, but it’s the same thing I used to curl up under while typing to you. And you will be petted, and we’ll be able to feel each other’s warmth as we get closer, and I will let you know how much I love you with whispers into your ear. Not the same as a new boss, but well, just trying to be helpful.
Oh, my dear sweet boy, you are more helpful than you could ever understand, and I love you for it.