Winter arrived last Sunday, a day that started cautiously sunny but quickly whipped up a cold wind and a sleety, snowy precip. After a quick run and a few timely chores (disconnecting and draining the hose, uprooting and drying the pepper plants) we dove into the house and spent the day reading and being cozy. Husband retired for a nap around 4, and when he still hadn't risen at 6:15 I started calling up gently to him from my perch in front of fire. When that didn't work I progressed to the stairs. He came down a few minutes later wearing his robe.
"You going to take a shower?" I asked, confused, as he'd taken one that morning.
"I was thinking about it," he said defensively.
He stood there aimlessly for awhile, looking at the fire and me and the cats, before confessing that he had thought it was Monday morning.
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