Twenty-four hours ago, I was in a horizontal position, like someone hit by a stray bullet. And that bullet's name was Surprise Stomach Bug. I remained in that position for the better part of the day, except for the moments when I was reacquainting myself with the marvelous receptacle that is our commode, oh how wondrous is your wide open maw, so mighty is your power to flush, so splendiferous is your proximity there in the bathroom where I just noticed that the tile is sort of shifty in this one position waaaah why am I still sitting here?....End: Ode to the commode. As I lay (lie? I never remember. Good thing I teach writing) along my miserable line of latitude yesterday, when laughter hurt and reading hurt and the very thought of food was OWWW, I had a very long think. I thought how in the dim light of my nineteen year-old wisdom when I was dreaming of my future husband, a requisite was probably someone who would bring me a rose (so cliche!) on important anniversaries.
But yesterday? Yesterday I was giving worshipful thanks for the man who brought me ginger ale and kept my glass full. (I would have given worshipful thanks even if he were covered in a pelt of back hair and a Ron Paul 2012 sticker. As long as he took care of me the way that Loverpants did yesterday.)
Ladies, forget the J.Crew centerfold you are desiring. Pray yourself a husband that will love you through the days when you both feel and look like a moldy bath mat in a high school boy's locker room.
<3 Lovey Loverpants <3
In other news, Little Man turned 20 months and he enjoys great literature. His big sister is pleased.