Dear Husband,
I’m sorry about the wet shirt.
I really was kind of proud of myself when I put it in the washing machine this morning. It was early, and I was glad that the load with your coach’s shirt was totally going to be finished before you needed to wear it tonight.
Yes. I do feel a little bit guilty that my cheer coach’s shirt was dry and ready for my own pictures.
I’m extra sorry that it didn’t register what you meant when you texted me a reminder about tonight’s pictures. I thought I was doing good to have all of the kids’ uniforms out and ready.
I’m not going to make an excuse. I could ramble on about how I was doing really important stuff for our kids’ school and for our church all day today.
I could distract you by bragging about how awesome I am for learning how to set the delayed start on our new oven so there would be a hot-and-bubbling casserole ready to eat when we got home after the pictures.
I could talk about how I obviously meant to do it since the dryer was actually empty, ready to receive and dry the load with your shirt in it.
I’m sorry. Really sorry.
But I also want to thank you.
Thank you for loving me, even when you’re annoyed and uncomfortable in your wet, blue shirt.
Thank you for fake-smiling as you make sarcastic-but-not-rude remarks about how,obviously . . . a shirt only needs five minutes in the dryer to be ready to wear.
Thank you for accepting me as I am, even though I do stuff like this on an all-too-regular basis.
I love you.
P.S. Don’t you think it’s lucky how the shirt is navy blue so it didn’t look wet?
Oh. Too soon?