I was soooo tired yesterday. Exhausted. And at the end of my workday, I looked at the gym bag in my passenger seat and tried very hard to convince myself that I wanted to go work out. It was, after all, my favorite class of the week: Kickboxing. But all I could think of was going home, curling up with my boyfriend (who had the day off and was actually home before 10:00) and watching American Idol.
But, at 5:00, I found myself in the gym's locker room, changing out of my work clothes and into my workout clothes.
After my class, I went home, sweaty and even more exhausted than I was before I went. I felt not unlike a toddler who hasn't had her nap: Grouchy, due only to lack of rest. I got home to Billy, who had just come out of the shower. I kissed him hello.
His first question to me was "What's wrong?"
I answered with my standard reply of "Nothing."
"But your eyes look so sad," he argued.
I love that about him. That he can tell, just by looking at me, that something is amiss. "Really," I said, "nothing is wrong, I just feel tired and...I don't know...blah."
So while I took my shower, he organized his ties. While I made dinner for us, he began to hang them all back up. After we ate, I buried myself in the blankets on the bed and watched American Idol while he continued to move ties from one side of the room to the other. I could feel the grimace I was wearing, unintentionally, on my face. Billy looked at me while he sorted through his hundred or so ties. "Cheer up," he said sweetly. I offered him a half-smile. "I will," I meekly assured him.
We turned our attention to the TV, where one the AI finalists was singing Jackson 5's "I Want You Back." The guy was dancing around, and finished his song holding a fist out at the camera. Billy and I both laughed. And then Billy busted out the moves he said he would use, were he ever a finalist on American Idol.
Singing the classic "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," he demonstrated the dance moves that would catapult him to American Idol fame. He was unsure of his big finish though. "What do you think? An ice-dancer style finish," he showed me the arched back and swooping arm final pose favored by the Olympic ice dancers we watched all weekend, "or jazz hands?" He held his arms out, fingers spread and fanning the air. I laughed until my stomach hurt.
And that's love. When a man is willing to use jazz hands to make you laugh.