I come home to find him in a sweat after washing his car. We laze around for a bit, then go out for lunch and grocery shopping. We feed each other prized crispy crunchy burnt bits of McDonalds fries. We buy fruit and bread and the same bottles of cheap organic shampoos. We come home and muck around. We cuddle up for a nap after a steamy shag session.

He wakes up and I feel him plant a kiss on my forehead before he heads out for soccer. He comes home from soccer, takes a shower, cleans up the cat's vomit. He starts cooking dinner and tells me to stay out of the kitchen so that I won't get the smell of his cooking in my hair.

I flick through pages of the February issue of Cleo until he declares dinner ready, and am still flicking pages while picking at my food when he does the dishes. As I finally bring my plate to the sink, he announces that he'll make char siu for dinner tomorrow, my favourite.


Made with love: Honeysoy-glazed chicken thigh fillets, scrambled eggs and mixed veggies with rice

I must have done something really good in my previous life to deserve him.