We woke up Sunday morning to clean sheets. Clean sheets and the newspaper waiting for us. But somewhere between those clean sheets and morning paper something went wrong. Not terribly wrong or even very wrong at all. Some days you are just cranky.
You need to do something to shake the crankiness.
So, you ride the subway with your biologist husband for 40 minutes and you roam around a museum filled with models of enormous sea creatures and you feel better about the state of things. You take the stairs instead of the elevator. You park yourselves on a bench and observe tiny human animals mimicking their primate ancestors.
You stop for tea and split a treat. Then you buy another and split that, too.
You come home to make dinner feeling patched and restored and then you bark at each other again.
You take a few breaths.
One of you makes dinner, not two, and by the time that dinner comes out of the oven you've worked out the kinks again.
It's tricky business, traveling in pairs. But those moments on the subway bench, the socked feet tangled on the couch, the taking the stairs two at a time, together: all of that makes any of the crankiness not matter so very much.
For you on a Monday morning: one of my very favorite essays.
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