He changes out of his work clothes as I nestle into the corner of the couch trying to obtain some sense of comfort. Our apartment was like a sauna; so terrible stifling from the dead humidity outside. The pain medication I was given from my doctor has had me munching on plain crackers and hanging mighty close to a waste basket. He sensed a much needed pick me up.
He heads to the kitchen, “I’m going to make chicken soup, ok?” Okay?! Hell yes! His chicken soup is by far my favorite food on the planet – no lie. It takes him hours to make; about 4-5 and during the summer it’s a mighty rare thing for him to want the stove going that long.
By the time it was cooked, I was a little green around the edges and didn’t want to chance getting sick before bed. I snuck a quick taste – experienced sinful visions and made my way to bed. This morning though – all bets were off. I wasted no time heating up a serving for breakfast – to which he simply laughed. Hey, there’s no rule saying soup isn’t breakfast food; I mean who hasn’t woken up to a slice of cold pizza?
And because a post is simply best with pictures . . .