My husband had to work this weekend. That’s when it occurred to me.
He doesn’t leave me love notes around the house anymore. I sat and tried to remember when I’d seen the last one.
Months ago.
The ones that used to say “Hope you have a wonderful day” or “Your purple is gorgeous” (I have a purple streak in my hair) or “You are beautiful”. Or simply “I love you”.
They’re gone—the post-its that used to be stuck to my mirror, my nightstand, my favorite coffee cup.
Where are all the notes?
Oh. There they are. On my phone. “Have a great day” and “Love you” and “I made you iced coffee—it’s in the fridge” with tiny, smiling emoticons or cute flowers.
Wow.
The love notes I used to get are little electronic bubbles on my frickin’ phone. It’s weird. Still sweet, of course, but like a sterilized version of what I had. Is this called a “love text”? (If that is some crude, new term, I apologize.)
I appreciate that my husband still writes these messages but there’s something special about a handwritten note.
Plus, I can’t use a text as a bookmark. Just saying.
My Sunday thoughts in 200 words or less.
