Jewish Christmas

Yesterday, Husband and I followed the long-standing Jewish tradition of going out for Chinese food on Christmas.
We had planned on going to a nice Chinese restaurant; what we hadn't counted on were their jacked-up prices. So we took a walk to Panda express, which was only a short distance away.

As we walked side by side, Husband took my hand, and entwined his fingers with mine.
"I'm so lucky," he said, looking at me.
I looked away and grumbled, "I'm not wearing enough makeup."
"You're wearing too much clothes," he quipped back.
My eyes went wide, my cheeks blushed, and my mouth opened in a wide O—which, by the expression on Husband's face, was exactly the reaction he was hoping for. He smiled and squeezed my hand.

Unlike the nice Chinese restaurant next door, Panda Express was comfortably empty. We ordered our food, took the containers to a corner table, and sat. We talked about our kids, our parents, our work, and the mundane going-ons of our week in review.
We talked the way best friends do.

I opened up my fortune cookie first. Kindness makes for happiness, it said. "It's true," I had to admit. "When I'm kind to you, you make me happy."
"I thought I always make you happy."
"You do, but…you're nicer about it when I'm kind."
"If 'being kind' is your euphemism for blow jobs, then yes, I agree, I'm nicer. I let you come, too."
"Shh!" I said, glancing to the right. "There are children at the next table."
Husband smiled devilishly.

Then he opened his fortune cookie. You take criticism as an opportunity to grow, it said. "It's surprisingly accurate," Husband said. "You criticize me, I punish you…and I grow. You can literally watch me grow." His eyes danced with lecherous glee. "I guess they skipped the middle part."
"You are awful," he hissed at him, trying to stifle my smile.
"Are you criticizing me?" He asked with raised brows.
I couldn't hold back my laughter.

We walked back to the car, hand in hand again, and started the drive home.
"This was nice," he said.
"Yes, it was," I replied.
The rest of the drive was passed in cozy silence.
Someday—if we're lucky—we'll live long enough to see our parents gone, our kids away, our work forgotten…but we'll still have each other.
And, for that, I am blessed.

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