Sundays are always companionable.
Whoever wakes first will make the tea and bring it into the bedroom. We’ll lay side by side in the warmth, slowly coming round; not speaking but together facing the electronic world.
We’ll shower in turn, brush teeth, spritz on fragrance and dress.
In town we eat lunch and watch people passing by. We make lists; things to do, supplies to buy.
Back at home we read, drink tea and eventually cook dinner.
In the past we’ve been accused of living in our “own little world”. On Sundays that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.