Wednesday, Nov. 14, 2018 at 9:02 p.m.
There's something about racing from my side of town to down town right before sunset that brings back memories of rushing out of work to cuddle. These memories never fail to make me blush.
My frustration with the traffic, my tiny blue car, it's sensitive brakes, how at one point of the journey the sun would always hit my eyes in a way that the car eye shield thing (what are those actually called?) would not be enough to shield the sun.
The excitement of parking my car. The elevator check, taking out the keys. I secretly liked him opening the door. The stool he put thought into and bought to be at the entrance of the door for shoes.
How the first thing I had to do was wash my hands and feet before I did anything.
The smell of the soap. I loved it all.
The teasing of him needing to go to the gym, or see his BFF, and how there was a clock ticking.
The showers, the towel wraps. The hair brush he got me, I wish I took that.