I’m having a rough week. That might not be earth shattering to anyone since every human being has bad days and bad weeks. Even my daughter will acknowledge when she’s having a bad day, but I somehow think it’s unacceptable to admit that I’m experiencing some trials. People come to me to help them hold crucial conversations. They ask me how to rebuild trust when trust seems irrevocably damaged. They ask me how to communicate more effectively with other individuals who think and act differently from them. I guess I often feel as though others will think less of me if they I struggle with relationships, too.

Anyway, like I said, I’m having a rough week. I handle stress in many ways-by baking, volunteering, reading, working-pretty much staying too busy to dwell on the problem at hand. I don’t pull a Scarlett O’Hara and ignore the problem with the hope that it’ll somehow just go away. I stay busy to give myself time to reflect and think about how I’m going to appropriately handle the problem.

Except this week, I couldn’t do that. I was struggling a bit-a lot- but my husband saved the day and the week. He took me out to dinner, and the restaurant was so lovely. The ambience of a live pianist was a balm to my soul. But the piece de resistance came immediately in the form of a small saucer with a pat of strawberry butter resting on it. No scones in sight, but I knew they were close behind, but I only had eyes on the strawberry butter. I asked my husband whether people would think me odd if I just dug into the saucer of butter. I’ve mentioned in the past that he is blessed with common sense, and his very common sensical response was, “So what?” (Look, people having rough weeks can make up words like common sensical. Leave me alone.)

Exactly! So what? So I dug in, and that first forkful of strawberry butter was so smooth. And in that moment, all of the stress just vanished. Nothing could mar the moment of sitting next to my hubby while he watched me eat butter without judgment. But why did the server have right then and ask how we were doing? Respectfully, I’m eating butter by itself. How do you think I’m doing? (Sorry, that wasn’t nice.)

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Scarlett O’Hara had it right. Tomorrow has its own worries and anxieties so why borrow those troubles today.

But, if I do have another bad day, can one of you bring me some strawberry butter?