Today was the perfect day for this one. My definition has definitely changed over the years. I still appreciate the sappy and unimportant teenager things I used to like. But today I had a caller at work that really upset me; really got to me. I complained on my first break to my husband about how upset this caller made me and how I couldn’t seem to just let it go. On my lunch, I was planning on reheating my leftover pizza from yesterday. When I came out to the kitchen, my husband had cooked my favorite meal for me: cheese enchiladas. When I asked what he was doing, mentioning that I had pizza to eat, he said don’t worry about it, he wanted me to have my enchiladas, I could eat the pizza tomorrow. This, to me, is romantic. Trying to make my day better with little things that will make me happy. Knowing that I need something small and thoughtful to show he is thinking of me and he cares.
This is not the first time he has done something like this for me. I’m actually reminded of an exact instance where I had received some terrible and upsetting news at work, so bad I had to leave early; I was so upset and could not calm down. To help me feel better, he cooked cheese raviolis for me for dinner, something I did not have very often, and calmed me down enough to make sure I ate.
I read romance novels and watch romance movies all the time and if you were to ask me if I thought my husband was a romantic person or fit the description of a romantic hero for either of these mediums I would immediately answer no. But if I were to really think about my description of romantic, I find that, yes, he is romantic. Not in any traditional sense. But he makes me feel loved, and that is my definition of romantic.
31BellaKei13 
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