Thanks be to Jaysus my husband is home. I met him at the train station last Friday afternoon and he looked a little less than fresh, but who wouldn’t after that mess? A delayed midnight flight from Halifax, Nova Scotia to London, hours of hanging about in Heathrow, followed by a flight to Geneva, although the view from that leg of the journey can’t be beat—”Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing shortly, please put your chairs in the upright position and your eyes in the open position. The Alps welcome you.”

Then through Swiss customs, a train to Lausanne and finally another train to Vevey. All that on top of two very busy weeks of work. Poor man, I’m exhausted just typing it out. But never mind him, unbridled narcissism is the theme here, so in fine Finding Me fashion, it’s all about me.

Five minutes in the door and I was begging for my presents from Canada. Other women want their men to bring them jewels and lingerie. Me? I’m more of rapid release Tylenol, Ivory soap, Nyquil, MAC eyebrow pencil kind of girl. God love him. Add in two pairs of Smartwool socks and I decided he would be kept on. Listen, we’ve been together for 10 years now, socks and soap are the height of romance chez nous.

It’s hard to know how soon is too soon to ask what’s for dinner when someone has just endured 12 hours of travel. Let’s see, he pulled into the Vevey station at 4:33 and by 7:30 I was taking my first bite of crispy cod, lemon and cilantro basmati rice and buttery green beans. So I’d say 2 hours is the standard to which I shall now adhere. Honestly, if I hadn’t made that detour to Zurich, I’d be dead from scurvy by now.

He fell into bed a few hours later and after another 12 hours of travel, this time through dreams of who knows what (more likely pastries and pies than superpowers and supermodels), he emerged with a sore throat and a stuffy head. “I might be sick,” he said, “so probably I shouldn’t be cooking or grocery shopping. I don’t want to make you sick.” So, naturally, I said, “Christ on a cracker man. You got the Nyquil, right? Unless you need me to prop you up while you grill and bake and all that, I’ll be in the living room.” I mean I appreciate being protected from viruses, but I appreciate being fed more.

Anyway, I did my part. Saturday morning I walked to the grocery store with him, irritated the merde out of him as he shopped, proving that he should do these things alone. We bickered all the way home and it was like he never left. It’s true what they say—absence makes the stomach grow fonder.

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