For those of you who have been getting sentimental/weepy at recent posts from me and/or Alex, I thought I'd offer you a little respite. A nice slice of sharp cheddar to to go with the apple pie, if you will.
For example: Yesterday, Alex happened to come into Walgreens to pick up prescriptions at the same time that Bella and I were in Walgreens picking up prescriptions (we kind of have a lot of prescriptions). I happened to be wearing actual polite-society-approved clothing (instead of, say, Razorback pajama pants , a Jermain Taylor t-shirt, and a pair of Crocs); an outfit consisting of a tangerine-colored polo shirt, avocado cotton capri pants, and a pair of jeweled, kitten-heeled mules with leather uppers and wooden soles and heels. There may even have been some remnants of makeup on my face left over from the morning's therapy appointment. (See there? THERAPY. It takes counseling to keep us married to each other.)
Now, HOURS prior to this, I had liberally applied some "Dr. Scholl's For Her Foot Softening Balm with shea butter" to my tragically dry and ashy feet. It seemed to have been absorbed. But after a few minutes' walking about, your feet tend to begin to perspire a little. And apparently, that process tends to re-activate the active ingredients in your "Dr. Scholl's For Her Foot Softening Balm with shea butter," and my feet got a little slippery.
As we were leaving the store, my left heel happened to just sliiiiide, quick as a wink, to the outside, off my shoe. To keep from falling, in the words of the great Helen Mirren, "a** over t**s" into the Walgreens dairy case and cracking my head open on the door of a refrigerator case, let's just say that: 1.) Some fancy footwork was required, and: 2.) the noise of WOODEN heels on retail-store tile is, well...LOUD AND ATTENTION-GETTING.
The point of this story is that my Dear Husband was standing right in front of me, and immediately turned to face me at the first sound of trouble. Did he step in to grab hold of and steady me? Did he reach out a hand to give me a more stable anchor to grasp onto than the Cheeto rack? Not exactly. What he DID, was, he stood there with a laughing smile on his face, WAITING TO SEE IF IT WOULD GET FUNNIER BEFORE IT WAS OVER.
Later, in the parking lot, he had some colorful metaphors about the sound of the hooves of cart horses on cobblestone streets...it was quite flattering. OH, the love.
BUT WAIT. That's not all! Last night, Alex went to bed early, really early, as in before 9:00 P.M., while I tossed and turned and fretted and hurt and worried, until finally, sometime after midnight, I woke him up and bade him speak with me a soothe my troubled mind. But he kept not wanting to wake up, and I had IMPORTANT things to discuss, such as my great (and yes, insane, gibbering, completely irrational) fear of the upcoming surgery--which is now going to happen IN THIS ACTUAL MONTH--and he groggily asked me EXACTLY the wrong question, "What could go wrong?"
Now, THIS is exactly what my sick mind was waiting for, and I began cataloging just a FRACTION of the VERY MANY things that could go wrong with this surgery, from my being accidentally colostomized, to my untimely death under anesthesia, because, you know, they basically KILL YOU during the anesthesia portion of the operation; did you know that? Your respiratory system? NOT WORKING ON ITS OWN, but relying on just some guy, or gal, some REGULAR PERSON, who might have had a really bad day that day--anything from having been kept awake the night before by a cranky baby, to having had a fender-bender on the way to work, to having JUST QUIT SMOKING...to keep it going. You see the possibilities? They're ENDLESS. I know that MY mind wanders while at work on the best of days.
Anyway, as I tried my best to convey to Loving Husband the gravity of this whole surgery situation, he reached out one large, sleep-wobbly hand, and used it to cover my whole face. After a second or two, I asked, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
His answer? "I'm hoping you're like a parakeet, and that you'll shut up and go to sleep if you can't see."
Yeah. That's true love, folks. So go ahead and curtail any mushfest on our account.