I was just out with the dog, bundled up against the ridiculous 35* F weather. (It was in the 80s last week. Thank you, Mr. Jet Stream.) I was thinking that this is romance for us. Seeing my husband with his lap full of bills, trying to figure out which doctors are going to get paid what this month, and taking the dog out, despite the cold and my hip/bladder/side pain, because it was the only thing I could do to help at the moment. Just like it was romance that my husband came out -in his tshirt and jeans, crazy man- to take the leash from me and make sure I was okay as soon as he realized what I had done. Our weekend has been full of laundry, dishes, dinner with old friends, pulling a tick off the dog, watching a favorite movie (Death to Smoochy) because I was in too much pain to go to the drive in, clearance shopping, and plenty of time resting on my extra long heating pad. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a good weekend, but I was thinking about a quote I read earlier. “You ...