Daily Newsie

Last night, I was fretting because being married forever and ever means you’re eventually going to have to see the other person throw up, and I really don’t think I could handle that sort of thing.

I had to laugh bitterly to myself this afternoon as I slumped miserably on the bathroom floor, hoping my stomach’s spectacular fireworks show (sponsored by Rafferty’s nachos, apparently) would cease before The Fiance’ came home. I haven’t thrown up in more than three years, and it figures it would happen the day after I informed The Fiance’ I wouldn’t kiss him again if he ever threw up, unless maybe a year or so had elapsed. Wouldn’t you know, he not only stopped at Kroger for stomach-friendly beverages and made me chicken-corn soup from scratch, he also kissed me mere hours after everything calmed down.

He may be too good for me. I won’t tell if you won’t.