Separating the Men from the ... not men ...

It snowed today. It started late last night, on our way home from Boyfriend's office party. Boyfriend was psyching himself up for a day spent shovelling. I laughed at his angst, because I do a good deal of the shovelling. I said he wouldn't be alone, that I'd be out there doing the stairs while he took care of the snowplow pile in front of the tempo.

Apparently, I lied.

I did get the Christmas cards done. All new addresses duly stored - physically, in a book, one of those things you use pencils and pens in, remember? Everything stamped and ready to go to the post office. It takes hours to do christmas cards, even when you're not writing a personal message in them.

I wasn't actually feeling quite up to snuff today either. Got a bit of a cold. I was actually surprised that Boyfriend came out to get groceries with me. And right up to the last possible minute I was still deluding myself that I was going to in fact go skating today, in town, at the Principal's Skating Party - a McGill tradition.

But I pulled the plug on that and went to bed for the afternoon instead. And felt much better for it.

Just before suppertime, "Untold Stories of the ER" was on. Boyfriend suffered quietly through one of them, but drew the line at eating his dinner in front of the tv to watch the second one. So even though he'd done all the shovelling alone, I let him eat by himself in the bedroom while I stuffed myself through all kinds of medical procedures.

And then Downton Abbey came on, and the rest of the world slipped away. Basically, the world does cease to exist for me when Matthew and Bates and Anna and Mrs. Hughes and Lady Mary are onscreen.

At some point Boyfriend got back into his snow shovelling clothes and made a good deal of noise outside, scraping and hitting the railings. I even had to get up to turn the light on for him. Fortunately, it was in a break from the show while they were running the Ralph Lauren and Viking River Cruises and Kells Academy ads. He did the deck too, for Bijou's sake, who wasted no time in enjoying the fruits of his labours.

I even poked my head out to encourage him. "Such rampant enthusiasm!" I cried. When he came in a few minutes later, he assured me he was far from enthusiastic. I've never seen him so drenched in sweat! He pointed out, pointedly, that he was only doing his duty.

I reminded him that occasionally I do my duty as well. But he didn't get to chuckle for long, because Lady Sybill was busy dying in childbirth and the world, and Boyfriend with it, was fast disappearing.

He's a Downton widower.

You know, how people say "golf widow" or "fishing widow." Well, he's a man, so he can't be a "widow," he has to be a "widower."

Hey, I got dinner made, and the dishes washed, and the cat food made, and the dishes washed again, and two loads of laundry done too.

But I have to admit, he wore the (snow)pants today!