I Love You, You Make Me Sick...

     As far as I'm concerned, when I met Kyle that Thanksgiving evening 8 years ago, it was love at first sight.  Nah, just kidding.  There was definitely interest, but love?  I was recovering from divorce and a new husband was most certainly NOT in the plan.  I remember my first sight of him- I'd just gotten back from running an errand for the hostess.  I walked into their living room and there was this GUY sitting on a footstool reading a book.  He had long hair and was wearing all black baggy clothing.  Seriously... LOOOOOOOOOOONG hair.  I'm talking about down to his waist.  In passing, the host introduced as and tossed me a bag of chips.  I tried to make small talk but mostly got a lot of non-committal grunts in response.  Then I realized something very important; HE WAS IGNORING ME!

     Obviously, he didn't ignore me for long.  We began dating a month later and were married the very next Thanksgiving.  And since then, we've laughed a lot and developed a lot of inside jokes.

That brings me to my Valentine's decorations for this year:

I know, it's hardly the standard declaration of undying love.  However, that statement defines our entire marriage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can you tell I made the entire display from paper plates?  Yep, I spent all of five cents total.

      About two years after we were married, we moved north to Ohio.  On our first Valentine's Day there, the Husbeastie got very ill.  We had no medicine in the house.  I went outside and eyed the car.  It had been buried by a plow under a pile of snow that I couldn't shovel away.  I finally decided I'd walk four blocks to a gas station to pick up some medication.  I started out at 4pm, trudging through snow that was barely above my ankles.  By the time I made it back, two hours had passed and the snow was up to my armpits.  Even worse, the plows kept driving past me, tossing snow piles on top of me and burying me.  K recovered in a few days, but I developed a cough.  After three days of the cough, I walked a mile to the doctor's office.  I'd developed pneumonia. 
    By some odd coincidence, the incident and circumstances have replayed themselves every year since.  Valentine's Day.  Snow.  He gets sick.  I go get medicine.  I develop pneumonia.  And we always laugh about it.  He told me once that it was sweet that I was willing to get sick in an effort to help him.

   This year, though, I'm thinking smarter.  I stocked my pantry with chicken noodle soup, sport drinks, and medication.  There is NO WAY I'm leaving this house on Valentine's Day.  I'm crossing my fingers for a year without pneumonia.