The other night we were close to leaving to meet Laine for Tex-Mex, margaritas, and cervazas when B headed toward the closet remarking, "I think tonight is a cap night." Well... he was wearing his gorgeous crimson Banana Republic pullover that I gave him for Christmas and his oh-so-fitting Ralph Lauren button-fly jeans and he had this look of gorgeous sophistication that, in my opinion, was just a notch above a cap. So I pulled a face, reminded him about the spray bottle of water next to the iron, and asked oh-so-nicely if he would forgo the cap just for that night.

So five minutes later-- after overhearing an extremely atypical, but brief, encounter between B and the hairdryer-- he marches out of the bathroom, points at his still somewhat wet and slightly spikey messy hair-- which I thought looked fabulous, but I imagine from what he said next, he didn't quite concur-- and says, "I'd like to thank the god who said 'Hair! Everyone should have some!'"

Sometimes the whole why-I-love-him-thing can be summed up just as simple as that.

I am not a fan of people who write letters to magazines in "oh-so-superior" voices in order to point out some kind of miniscule error in word usage or phrasing. These people join my ever-growing list of people who are not taking enough credit hours in the curriculum of life.

In believe the patience displayed by Editors who write back to these superior people and apologize for the error or explain the original intent is extremely charitable-- and demonstrates something so far beyond where I am as a person right now. The fact that this kind of patience exists out there gives me hope for this world.

I don't know how I flipped the switch, but suddenly I feel much more in control of my daily life. I feel like I get things accomplished, make the most of each day, plow through lists, and still manage some quality downtime-- with B and all by myself. I think the lack of looming-dooming deadlines at work helps-- as does making time for the gym, reading the paper over breakfast first thing each morning, and settling in here with a nightcap post just before bed.

Small things really-- like my own personal micro-movements-- but they're thankfully adding up. Even without resolutions.

B was all testosteronee-gory-FX-televisiony tonight-- but said that I could change the channel to the State of the Union if it was making me sick. I said that I thought the SotU would be much, much worse. Just one of our little jokes.

B feels like a total outsider being a Republican in DC-- something I don't quite understand since Texas is the third most sighted out-of-state license plate in the District (after Maryland and Virginia, of course). His guys are running the place and yet he feels like the outsider. His argument is that all of "his guys" lock themselves in a bullet-proof compound every day and leave him out here to fend off the rest of us commie, pinko bastards. Just another one of our little jokes.

SotU night is fun-- filled with debate and name-calling and lots of righteous "Well your guy..." blaming. In between we both got in a workout, some curry chicken salad, and a few minutes with Doogie Howser, MD. Not bad at all.