#brokenpromesistothunderthighs is really what I texted a good friend last night after inviting her dinner. Sounds like I fell off a dieting wagon but no, that’s not it. We have a different set of friends in town that my husband has known for over 20 years. He texted them earlier in the day asking if they would like to go to dinner that night. We didn’t receive a response, which is pretty common when it comes to these friends. During an earlier visit a few years back, we had been texting about a goodbye dinner and didn’t receive a response until they had already sat down, ordered, and then texted us and got a little bit annoyed with us that we weren’t going to come join them. Communication is not their strong point. 

So back to last night, no response, so it being the end of the work week, I decided a date with a bubble bath, a cold Dr. Pepper and my phone with the live feed of the Giraffe that just won’t pop already, was going to be how I would spend my evening. Jeans off and sweat pants on! Sounds like heaven. 

My simple plan became complicated when I turned on the water to the tub and it was a tan color. Looks like the water district had done some repairs down the road.  So having to run the water through the pipes for about 20 minutes delayed my much desired bath and once I got in, bubbles and and all, I realized my mistake. I had run the water on hot instead of cold when flushing out the pipes so now my water is barely warm. I’m not a quitter though. I had the giraffe feed ready to go so I figured I could hold out until the water heater warms back up. As I’m soaking in water much too cold for my liking, our dog starts to go nuts. Our friends had come over. They were expecting to go to dinner. My husband appears in the bathroom to give me the news. Now I have to rush to dry my hair that had partly gotten wet, get dressed and head back out. I would’ve said sorry guys but no communication, pants are off, dinner is a no go. I can’t really do that though. My husband really wanted to go and he’s not to a point where he is allowed to drive yet. He wouldn’t go if I didn’t take him. 

Since we’re all friends from high school, over 20 years, I quickly text my good friend in our group to see if her family wanted to join us. Me being me, I just can’t say hey late notice dinner, join if your free. That just wouldn’t be me at all. So I invite her and ask her to please cry for my thunder thighs. The jeans just went back on after I promised them sweats. I ended the thext with #brokenpromisestothunderthighs.

When your husband is recovering from two traumatic brain injuries that had him thumb wrestling with the Grim Reaper, you tend to break those promises to your sweat pants and thighs. You put him first just to see that smile come out when he is out with your group of friends laughing about God knows what. 

You also end up creating hash tags that make your friend laugh but also question their judgment in choosing you as their friend. 

The road of recovery is a long one where you have no clue as to the direction in which your going. It also a blessing and the best gift ever received. I could be alone and having to visit my husband through memories and dreams. Instead we get to create new memories with friends that make you put your jeans back on.


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