My poor hubby, who got home from work last night at midnight, had to get up at 6:00am this morning and head back into work for a day-12 shift. He won't be back home until 8:00pm. This is his first of seven day-12s.
I got up with Kev and started to make him an omelet, but he didn't want one... just coffee, lots and lots of coffee. We got some stuff around for his lunch (and dinner...), and off he went to work.
Kev is a good-lookin' 45-year-old man... this morning, though he's still the major hottie of my life, he sure looked older than 45! His hair is going gray* both on his skull and his face, and his laugh wrinkles are numerous (since this is my story, I'm going with laugh, even though that isn't Kev's forte... ok, honestly, they're more like squint wrinkles... there, satisfied?). His face this morning showed how utterly tired he's feeling. He said he was still awake at about 4:00am. Should be a happy, happy day for him. My poor hubby. My poor, old hubby.
*This story may be a re-run. Deal with it. (I'm old, too.) Shortly after Kev started working in the building he's in now, he had a problem with a piece of equipment. He called the equipment guy to fix it, but the guy took a long time to appear so meantime, Kev fixed it himself. The equipment guy arrived and asked another guy in the building if "that tall guy with the gray hair and goatee ever got the pump running"... So this other guy told Kev about this description. Kev told me and was all, "when did I become the guy with the gray hair???" Ummm... I told him... about a year ago.
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