My poor, overworked, abused chef comes home around midnight or one looking like this:
We are so happy to see each other! We talk about our days and sip wine or beer. He showers and about 30 minutes later, starts looking like this:
Soon, after fervent denials that he is "not tired" and "wants to hang out with my super" (that what we call each other) he looks like this: (his pajama top says "I'm with Super")
I miss him. But on lovely (rare) days off he makes me something like this:
I am one of the luckiest girls in the world!