Tag: love

Lori Vs. Washing Machine

Once was a time when I thought there was something very wrong with me because I was very unloved.  When I first met The Viking, I told him my suspicions and he snorted at me.  Snorted!  I thought he should have fair warning so he could back out before he was in too deep, but hey, if he wanted to recklessly ignore my warnings I may as well play along because maybe he would never find out.  Sure, I suppose that could be construed as stringing him along if suddenly three years down the road something would happen, and he’d be like “Fuck!  There is something very wrong with you Lady!”.  But I would have three years, right?  Isn’t it easier to beg forgiveness than ask for permission?  That applies here, doesn’t it?  However, I was dealing with a Viking and didn’t have any peer-reviewed studies on Viking forgiveness.  Philosophically, I decided to be just as reckless as The Viking and stopped trying to convince him.  It’s his own fault if he eventually finds out.  He had his chance, after all.

The reason I’m mentioning it now is that I did a thing.  All by myself.  Without any input from The Viking.  In fact, he didn’t even know there was a thing and that I was doing that thing alone.  And the reason this is important is that The Viking loves me.  Lucky for me, he still hasn’t figured out what’s wrong and I’m smart enough not to bring it up.

We show each other our love in many different ways, but at the moment I’m talking about one specific way The Viking proves he loves me.

He does things for me.

And, just as importantly, I let him do things for me.  And that’s important because I’ve never had anyone to rely on, so I tend to just take care of things by myself.  Purposely allowing him to control/fix things is an actual act of love on my part.  So, it’s kind of a gift back at him to let him do things.  I know.  It’s complicated.

Anyway, he’s quite vigilant watching for moments when he can do things for me, which means that I frequently have a can yanked out of my hands so he can open it for me.  If I’m doing something and accidentally curse at whatever the fuck I’m doing, The Viking shows up immediately and takes over whatever the fuck I’m doing.  It’s like I can summon him, like a demon, with colorful curses.

via GIPHY

And that brings me to the thing I did.  I was doing laundry, and everything was going splendidly until Washing Machine decided to take a vacation.  I tossed in the clothes, closed the door, added detergent and poked the power button.

Nothing.

I said, “Hey!  What’s your problem?”  I checked that the door was completely closed and checked the fuses.

Still nothing.

Dryer was working just fine so it wasn’t a plug problem.

Well, shit.

My first thought was to summon The Viking with curses, because after 14 years I’ve become less dependent on my own resourcefulness.  Except, every once in a while, I feel like a loser when things are yanked out of my hands.  I’m an intelligent woman and I can figure out how to open a damned can!

Deciding to figure this out on my own, I went searching for the Owner’s Manual.  Finding the Owner’s Manual is a triumph all on its own since I have 14,927,062 places where I store Owner’s Manuals and I have Owner’s Manuals for things that we haven’t had for 10 years.  I managed though and flipped through to the Troubleshooting page.  It was written by a man.  Obviously.

Owner’s Manual:  Is it plugged into a power source?

Me:  Yes.  Ass.

OW:  Check your fuses?

Me:  Already did that.

OW:  Okay, I’m out of ideas.

Me:  I can’t believe I’m saving you.  You are not worthy of storage space.

Google was much more helpful and much less condescending by suggesting a reset.

Unplug Washing Machine.  While the machine is unplugged, poke and hold the power button for 5 seconds and then poke and hold the start/pause button for 5 seconds.  Plug Washing Machine back in.

AND IT WORKED!! WOO HOO!!  I HEALED WASHING MACHINE!!   VICTORY DANCE IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM!! 

I had been fully prepared to summon The Viking.  I had my curses ready to go.  For my own self-respect though, I wanted to do my due diligence.  There’s nothing worse than summoning The Viking only to find out I missed something a toddler could find.

After I finished my Victory Dance, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself.  I had proven that I am smarter than Washing Machine, and if I’m smarter than Washing Machine then I’m probably smarter than Dryer.  I wouldn’t take on Microwave or Refrigerator though, because that seems like a bridge too far and could result in a disastrous hit to my newly found confidence.  It’s probably for the best that I quit while I’m ahead.

So, I’m taking this as a win.  It’s marked on the Calendar as “Lori Vs. Washing Machine Day”.  In the meantime, The Viking will just have to prove his love by doing the dishes.

Because I’m smarter than Washing Machine.

I Couldn’t Have Planned This Better If I Had Actually Tried

It’s our 3rd Wedding Anniversary today.  Aaaannnnd….National Orgasm Day.

I didn’t plan to have our Wedding on National Orgasm Day, but if I had decided to get married on any National Whatever Day, it would have been National Orgasm Day.  Sometimes, things just work out despite not planning them.

Oddly, I didn’t realize until today that I shared a special day with Orgasms which makes me wonder why I didn’t know this until today.  Two whole anniversaries have been wasted and I’m a little disappointed.

Til Death Us Do Part

The Viking found a website of old TV shows and while I was building a puzzle on my computer, he proceeded to list them.  Within 15 minutes, he was re-evaluating most of the life choices he’s made in the past decade.

Him:  M*A*S*H*!  That was a good show.

Me:  I love that show!

Him:  The Waltons.

Me:  Too church-y for me.  I always felt like I was failing every time one of those ‘goody-two-shoes’ made the right decision.  Too much pressure for regular kids who lie once in a while and will take the largest slice of cake instead of giving it to a sibling.

Him:  HA!  Columbo?  He was good.

Me:  I had a serious crush on him.

Him:  WHAT?!

Me:  Yup!  Completely in love with that guy.

Him (laughing in disbelief):  That’s funny, Babe.  The Rockford Files.  Did you have a crush on him, too?

Me:  Nah.  Too pretty.  The pretty guys are always too high maintenance.

Him:  CHiPS

Me:  ……

Him:  Six Million Dollar Man.

Me:  He was always squinting and that just gets annoying after a while, don’t you think?  You would think that if they had the technology to make a bionic eye they could do something about the squinting.

Him (squinting at me):  I’ve never really thought about it.  Kojack!

Me:  I had a crush on him, too.

Him:  Noooo.  You didn’t!

Me:  Yes.  I did!  He was a badass.

Him:  Little House on the Prairie.

Me:  …..

Him:  Gunsmoke.

Me:  Crush.

Him:  Fucking hell!  Hawaii Five-O.

Me:  Too arrogant.

Him:  WKRP in Cincinnati.

Me:  ……

Him:  Marcus Welby, M.D.

Me:  Oh, yeah!

Him:  He’s so old!

Me:  But in a good way.

Him:  The Love Boat

Me:  ……

Him:  Hogan’s Heros.

Me:  Nope.  There was something about that guy that just rubbed me the wrong way.

Him:  Kung Fu.  Noooo…..don’t say it!

Me (nodding my head):  Uh Huh!  And Scott Glenn too, because he looks a lot like David Carradine.

Him:  Fucking hell.  Quincy M.E.

Me:  YES!  I love his face!  Total crush.

Him:  ……

Me:  What?  He was hot!

Him:  Baa Baa Black Sheep.  Robert Conrad.

Me:  Crush.  But I felt bad about it because he was so pretty and I was riddled with guilt.

Him:  Trapper John, M.D.

Me:  Nope.  Something wrong with that guy too.

Him:  B.J. and the Bear

Me:  Double nope!

Him:  Vegas?  Robert Urich?

Me:  Again, yes. But with a lot of guilt.

Him:  Barnaby Jones.  Sigh.  If you had a crush on him…….

Me:  Oh, yeah!

Him:  ……

Me:  You’re regretting that you married me, aren’t you?  Too late now – you’re stuck with me till death do us part.

I’m just surprised that The Viking is surprised.  He should be accustomed to me by now.  What I find attractive about a person has nothing to do with their appearance.  Except with Robert Urich and Robert Conrad of course, but I won’t feel good about it.

Wait.  Both are Roberts.

My father’s name is Robert.  Fuck.  Excuse me while I do an online Psychological assessment.

A Pain in My Ass and Shiver Me Timbers!

It’s going to be fast and dirty today because I have shit to do.

Last Saturday was supposed to be beautiful so The Viking pulled Goldwing out of the corner and got her running.  We decided to go in the exact opposite direction that we projected most other people were going to go and that meant we would go east.  Our destination?  Drumheller!

At first, we were enjoying the ride and the fresh air and getting out of the house, but then my Back decided to mutiny.  It started in my left ass cheek, but true to most mutinies, it spread – to my right ass cheek and down both legs.  Gawd!!  And guess who didn’t bring her super-duper pain meds to deal with this shit.

I started squirming around and stretching my legs to alleviate the pain but it didn’t help much and The Viking couldn’t find a place to pull over to give me a break.

When we stopped at the ‘Welcome to Drumheller’ sign, The Viking had to help me get off Goldwing.  After walking around and stretching a bit I felt much better which was a good thing because how would I get home, right?

And then we thought we could just grab a burger someplace in town but all we could find was an A&W and the line-up to get food was really, really long so we decided ‘fuck that, we didn’t want to eat here anyway!’ and started home where we had two delicious steaks waiting for us.

And then the wind suddenly arrived!  Holy!  Hell!  If I turned my head just a little, the wind would grab my helmet and nearly rip it off.  The Viking was having some difficulty holding on to Goldwing and at one point the wind grabbed us and pushed us to the very edge of the pavement and we both thought we were goners but The Viking roared in the face of Father Wind and saved us!

via GIPHY

The mutiny in my ass returned with such vengeance that it inspired Goldwing to mutiny too, and The Viking was forced to use his motivational shouting-cursing which encouraged her to get us home because who wants to disappoint a shouting-cursing Viking, right?

We both needed several drinks when we got home and I got drunk* and started telling The Viking how much I fucking love him and we almost got into a fight about who loves who the most.  I was drunk enough that I actually prompted him to give me more shots of Pernod which is totally not like me at all because I really hate salty licorice but I suppose this is one of the reasons he loves Drunk Lori so much.

Due to the outbreak of Drunkenness, The Viking had to manage supper on his own because I can’t be trusted with a BBQ when I’m drunk.  Or tongs.  He confiscates them immediately citing that time I pinched his ass with them.

The Viking did an admirable job making supper and I was so enthusiastic in my praise that he finally told me to shut up and eat.  He appreciated it though, I could tell.

I decided we should have sex because getting drunk does that to me which is just one more reason The Viking loves Drunken Lori so much, but the whole thing turned into a disaster despite our best efforts because…. well…. drunkenness.  To be honest though, I probably won’t learn a lesson from the experience.

And then we both fell asleep and woke up at midnight.  Like irresponsible teenagers who have no internal clock and can go back to sleep two hours later.  We were useless on Sunday.

via GIPHY

*Because I also needed some pain meds just to move.

 

 

The Vikings Have Left the Building

We dropped Erik and Annette at the airport on Friday afternoon.  Tears and hugs and promises to talk soon.  Before we all dissolved into puddles, The Viking and I got into the car and drove away, Erik and Annette waving through the rearview mirror.  We sniff and wipe tears but don’t speak for fear the internal howls of grief will escape.

When did they sneak into my soul?  When we picked them up from the airport, a mere two and a half weeks ago, I was surprised to feel my throat close up and tears spring to my eyes at the first sight of them coming through those sliding doors.  Their faces are as dear to me as The Viking’s.  I hugged them hard for longer than I should have, and they let me.  They must have known how much The Viking and I needed them.

There were joys and griefs, worries and fears to share.  We celebrated The Viking’s 60th Birthday, each of us thinking how the years left to us should be filled with love and support.  We plan future trips and things we’ll do.  It’s easy when you are in the company of these beautiful people.

We refused to acknowledge the looming date of their departure, none of us willing to put a shadow on our time together.  Instead, we drank and laughed and loved.  We went to a pub to watch a hockey game – Annette has never experienced Canadian Hockey enthusiasm.  We stayed in the mountains for a couple of nights despite the freezing temperatures.  The Viking took Erik to the Man’s Porn Store (Princess Auto) and we all wandered through a mall looking for deals.

Mostly though, we Hygge’d – enjoyed each other’s company for the brief time we had.  Someday, perhaps, we can spend more time.  Hopefully.  In the meantime, we talk on FaceTime and send messages of love on FaceBook.  That will have to hold us.

All our loved-ones on the other side of the planet know that we send them hugs and love every day.  Be safe.  Be happy.

And, since this has been a post filled with sorrow, I’ll end with the saddest music ever:

The Vikings Are Coming!

Well, so much for sleep – I’m too excited.  Erik & Annette* will be here this afternoon, dragging suitcases bulging with Danish candy and Akvavit.  We’ve missed them so much there is a very distinct possibility of a spectacle in the Kiss and Cry.

They’ve come all the way from Denmark to help us celebrate The Viking’s descent into Grumpy Old Viking-hood.  He’s been practicing for several years now and I think he has it nailed, just in time for his 60th birthday.

For now, I need to finish getting the house cleaned and I’m expecting shouting and crying and a loss of the will to live.  You know – the usual emotions that precede just such events.

I feel several stiff drinks in the works later today and Hygge.  Lots and lots of hygge.

Go ahead and leave The Viking birthday wishes in the comments.  I’ll read them tomorrow at the party!

*Erik is The Viking’s brother and Annette is his beautiful partner.

A Conspiracy of Dicks

There’s a conspiracy against me.  I don’t know who it is or why they are doing it, but someone is definitely being a dick.

I could understand it if I lived in a small town or in the country, but I don’t.  I live in a big-ass city so the chances should be good that I would be privileged.  I give money to charities and help those who need a hand sometimes.  I’ve been building up good karma for decades!

Sure, every once in a while I flip a bad driver the bird – who doesn’t?  And I regularly hang up on those people, calling from a third world country, who tell me there is a problem with my Microsoft programs.  Religious groups ringing my front door bell are usually given less than polite conversation but I don’t call them names or anything like that.  I just tell them I’m not interested, wish them a good day then close the door.  That’s not horrible.

True, I did call a couple of guys ‘Fucking Idiots’ but they had that coming!  The Viking left the front door open for the air conditioner overnight and these two assholes start ringing the doorbell at 6:00 in the AM!  Why?  They wanted to share their fucking Jagermeister with me AT SIX O’CLOCK IN THE DAMNED MORNING!  On a Saturday!  This shouldn’t cost me negative Karma at all because even the Lord Almighty would have called them ‘Fucking Idiots’ after spending 10 minutes trying to get his door out of their drunken grip (why are drunks so freakishly strong?  It doesn’t make sense!).

My Member of Parliament sends out these sheets of propaganda and I admit that I decorate them with colored markers, citing every grievance I have against their Neo-Liberal bullshit, and then mail it back ‘postage paid’.  I’m fairly confident that it gets delivered because I make block letter complaints about their efforts to privatize Canada Post so it’s in their best interest to deliver it, right?  So, I suppose, if my MP gets hurt feelings, there might be a ding of bad karma, but not so much it should make a difference.

So, I’m mystified at the seemingly deliberate plan not to do Flash Mobs anywhere around me.  I’m sure the jerks know that I would LOVE Flash Mobs to happen at the grocery store or in my front yard and yet there hasn’t been a single incident of Flash Mobbing in the entire community!  What’s up with that?!

Like this:

How do teenagers deserve a Flash Mob and I don’t?  Teenagers can be total dicks like no one else can be total dicks and they haven’t had nearly as many years accruing karma, yet here they are enjoying a Flash Mob.

That one showed up on my Face Book feed and it led me down a YouTube rabbit hole of Flash Mobs that have never happened near me.  Some of them were wonderful and some were lame but I’d even take a lame Flash Mob.  After an hour lost in the depths, I found one that was my favorite.

Oh…those Russians, right?

I’m guessing that some of you, too, have never been privileged enough to deserve your own Flash Mob but maybe you have seen videos of enough to have a favorite.  Put a link in the comments so I can live vicariously through you.

And, for the Powers That Be who are not letting Flash Mobs happen on my front lawn during the hours of 9:00am to 6pm……you’re dicks.

 

Share me on FaceBook.  It’s good Karma.

A Baby In Each Arm

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, the photo provided by Danny Bowman.

 

They stood side by side, the older woman’s arm around the younger. 

“Between those two humps, your great, great grandmother buried 2 children – it was cholera.  Three days later she gave birth to twins in the back of the wagon.  They had to stop when the babies came, then they travelled through the night to catch the other wagons.  She walked the whole time, a baby in each arm.”    

“Really?”

“Yes.  You come from a long line of strong women.  A broken heart might hurt like hell but it won’t kill you.” 

“Promise?”

A long, comforting hug.   “I promise.” 

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Support a slightly starving writer and share.  Also, it’s good Karma.

Just Tie the Knot, Already!

Well, I’m nothing if not adept at biting off more than I can chew so it shouldn’t come as a huge surprise to hear that I’ve done it again.  This time I had help though.  In the form of a Viking.

We were contentedly watching a movie last week when he suddenly said….

“How much longer do we need to be together before we get married?”

I laughed nervously; the subject of marriage always makes me a bit flinch-y.

Except, last weekend we celebrated our 10th year together.  10 YEARS!  Some people might consider that a fairly lengthy engagement but, to be honest, I’m quite happy with the status quo.  I don’t need a legal document to prove my love and a Common-Law status is legally almost as good as marriage anyway.   You don’t spend 2 decades trying to make a marriage work, fail and then jump right back into the frying pan without at least a little apprehension.

The Viking:  I’m not joking.  How much longer do you need?

Me:  Umm…..well I didn’t really have a specific date in mind – like 2021 or anything.

The Viking:  It’s been 10 years already!

Me:  I know.  I just thought we had decided not to jump in this year.

The Viking:  I know you’ve been married before and weren’t willing to make that decision too soon but it’s about time, isn’t it?

Me:  I didn’t realize you were in a hurry.

The Viking:  Well, I’ve never been married and I would like to get married before I die.  To you!  Erik and Annette* will be here and this is the only time we can get married when I could have a family member stand up for me.

Well, geez!  If he’s going to put it that way…..

And he’s right – as usual.  I thought we would get married in Denmark in a few years when we had a little more money, but it would be cheaper to do it here rather than flying my kids all the way to Denmark.

And maybe I should start dealing with my aversion to marriage and anything that even sounds like marriage.  The Viking and I have been living and working together for years and years quite happily, so you wouldn’t think that a piece of paper would make any difference.  It’s a piece of paper not a liver transplant!  Right?

But deep in the back of my head is a voice saying, “Sometimes that piece of legal paper makes a world of difference.” Some people take it as permission to be controlling and over-bearing and jealous; I’ve seen movies!  And what if there’s a skeleton in a closet that I haven’t located yet?  What if he’s trying on my clothes when I go to the grocery store (not that there’s anything wrong with that if I know about it before I marry it!)?  What if he has an entire family concealed in a neighbouring town (even I can see that this is not very likely, but still….)?  What if he’s in the Witness Protection Program and mob thugs are going to show up here one day?  What if…..

FOR THE LOVE OF GAWD……shut up already!  If The Viking were truly like that and managed to fool me for 10 years(!) he deserves a medal of achievement. Besides, he doesn’t have the patience for it.  He probably won’t change at all.  And don’t you remember you called him an arse-ling just last week and he didn’t lose his shit at all!  In fact, he actually smiled!  So, maybe marrying him will turn out to be the best thing ever.

Or not.  Gawd!  My right eye is twitching.  Is my eye trying to tell me something?  Perhaps it knows something that my brain hasn’t picked up yet.  It would be just like me to have a ‘twitchy eye’ instead of a ‘gut feeling’.  On the other hand, you have to see something before your brain can do anything about it, so maybe my twitchy eye is ahead of the curve.

And now that I’m thinking about it, why in the hell would he want to marry me in the first place?  I’m a mess!  A 53 YEAR OLD Mess!  It’s exhausting just thinking about all of my faults and weirdiness.

You know, he would really be better off with someone less……..

The Viking:  HELLOOO?! 

Me:  What?

The Viking:  I’ve been watching your face.  Are you getting close to using words yet?

Me:  Oh!  Of course I want to marry you!  What woman wouldn’t?  Are you sure you want to go down this road?  You’ll be stuck with me for the rest of your life because once I’m committed that’s it!   

The Viking:  I know.  I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I wasn’t prepared to spend the rest of my life with you.

Me:  What if I don’t meet expectations?

The Viking:  You already don’t meet expectations.  Nothing new there.  I kind of like that about you.

Me:  Really?    

The Viking:  Why do you think I want to marry you?  

Me:  You have a concussion?  Brain Cancer?  You hear dead people?  A VooDoo Doctor is making you do it?  Blackmail?  An evil curse?  Selective Alzheimers?  

The Viking:  Oh, for fucksakes!  Are you going to marry me or what?!

Me:  Okay, fine!  On one condition.

The Viking:  Should I even ask?

Me:  When I’m in a wheel chair, you will make it the fastest, most powerful wheel chair ever!

The Viking:  You might not end up in a wheel chair.

Me:   70% chance.

The Viking:  If you do, I will.

Me:  And you’ll love me forever?

The Viking:  I already do.  More than you can even imagine.

And then all hell broke loose!  I had 10 days to pull this off.  I need an Official to do the ceremony, our rings, dishes, flowers, a wedding outfit, a tablecloth, cloth napkins and rings, wine glasses, drink glasses, serving platters, photographer, my Judgement of Divorce (who knows where the hell I stashed that damned thing?!), a marriage license, some place to have the ceremony and a pedicure/manicure.  Then there are the Wedding Vows to write.

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We aren’t equipped to have a wedding, even an incredibly small one.  We only had 7 dinner plates and one of them had an ugly chip in it.  No matching wine glasses.  If I’m harnessing myself to The Viking for the rest of my life there had better be some matching wine glasses!!

Today, I have exactly 5 days left to find a photographer, get the marriage license and find a nice spot in Bowness Park.  Thanks to my Mim, we’ve accomplished a damned miracle getting the other stuff.

Even better, I am actually looking forward to My Teeny Weeny Viking Wedding.

I’m still stressed but there is a small chance that I might be ready for Saturday morning when we pick up Erik and Annette at the airport.

Sweet Bejesus!!  I forgot about a cake!  May this be the only thing I’ve forgotten.  Sigh.  Deep breaths.  It will be fine.  It’s a wedding, not a Heart Transplant.

*The Viking’s brother and his lovely wife, Annette.

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First Aid Kits and a Missed Opportunity

I’m so glad you came for coffee. Have a seat. Yeah, it’s gross, right? Sure I’ll tell you how it happened.

On the third day of our vacation I banged my right foot on the Seadoo trailer. Considering we were at a very busy gas station I thought I did well to keep my wails and curses from all but the closest people. The Viking was as sympathetic as always.

“What the fuck did you do now?” There wasn’t a hint of concern in his voice.

“I banged my foot!  And there’s blood!”

A loving person would stop fueling and check my injuries but he opted for the ‘fuelling is more important than you are’ approach. I was left to poke at my toe – the main victim in the accident – and wonder if I could die from blood loss. There were two (2!) fairly big cuts after all. What if a major artery was nicked? Do big toes have major arteries?

Disappointingly, the blood started clotting – too soon in my opinion. I was hoping for a small puddle of blood congealing around my foot; surely he would spare a little sympathy for that.

“I’m done. You can go get the change.” He called as he finished up.

You see?! Zero sympathy! If he cut his toe in 2 places and there was blood I would definitely have sympathy.

“Fine!” I said as I hobbled back to the cashier. “If I die from blood loss before I get back, you are totally to blame. Make sure you tell the kids that!” Unfortunately, I didn’t die so there was no accountability and he just got away with severe indifference.  There is no justice in this world.

When we got back to the trailer I tried making my toe more noticeable. I called attention to a cat toy and pointed to it with my red, bleeding toe. He looked at the toy and completely ignored my toe which annoyed me.

I take care of everyone! You got a cold? Here, let me get you some Neo-Citran and a warm blanket. Does your back hurt? Let me get you some muscle cream and the heating pad. You need a ride? Let me drop what I’m doing and help you out. Feeling sad today? Come here and I’ll baby you with a fuzzy blanket, a cup of tea and Netflix.

But WHO BABY’S (BABIES) ME?! I get a cold and I have to go to the store myself to buy some meds, come home and make my own damned Neo-Citran and find my own damned blanket. When I’m sad? Pfft. My back hurts? I go find my own pills and keep going.

I’ve been taking care of people for over 30 years now. Yet I can count on one finger how many times someone has told me to sit down and handed me a warm blanket while they fixed me a cup of Neo-Citran. So when I bang my damned toe and it bleeds and it hurts like hell……someone had better give me some fucking attention! How hard can it be?

“Oh Honey! That looks nasty! I bet it hurt. Let me get some disinfectant and antibiotic cream. Would you like a cup of tea? A warm blanket? Can I tuck you into bed?”

See? Not hard at all!

Finally, I poked one of the cuts until it started bleeding again and said, “It’s bleeding again. And my beautiful neon pink toe polish with the lovely white flower is ruined.” Then I lifted my foot so it was inches from his face. “Does it look infected to you?”

“No. I think it’s fine if you quit fucking with it.”

“I don’t think it’s fine and it feels like it’s getting infected!” Of course it was fine and would heal nicely if I just quit fucking with it, but I was fully invested by now and there was no going back.

“So what do you want me to do?” The Viking was annoyed. For some reason Facebook was more important than the gangrene growing on my toe!

So I went to the bathroom and got a bottle of peroxide and a cotton ball. “You could disinfect it.”

I saw the question in his eyes.  Why can’t you do it yourself?  Maybe he read something in my eyes because he sighed heavily then rummaged around in a cupboard to produce an enormous First Aid Kit. I said, “Holy Shit!”

He opened it up; it had everything you would expect a well-stocked emergency room would have. It was almost as big as the First Aid Kit in the garage at home, and only slightly bigger than the First Aid Kit he had in the house. And then I remembered there is another one in one of the Seadoos and one in my car as well.

The Viking has been stockpiling First Aid Kits! Why would he think he needs a Trauma Kit around us at all times?

And that took the wind right out of my sails. Sonofabitch! I hate it when this kind of thing happens. So he actually does care…………but not in the way I recognize care and when I finally do recognize his brand of care I have to accept it and forget about the kind of care I really wanted because I’m a fucking adult! No cup of tea, no warm blanket and no getting tucked into bed with a kiss on my forehead.

FUCK!

What I got instead was a disinfectant swab made of cardboard banged repeatedly on the cuts until I said it didn’t feel infected anymore, a swipe of antibiotic cream and the joy of putting the First Aid Kit away.

2 weeks later it became apparent that an ugly dark purple splotch was taking over my toe nail. It’s now living proof that I should have been coddled and an opportunity was missed.  But…..we have 5 industrial sized First Aid kits which proves The Viking loves me.  I guess.

And that’s how my toe got gross.