My burn is getting better. Fairly quickly. Tomorrow marks two weeks, and it's looking great. Just a little discolored, and a little horn of touch flesh on top of my knuckle. Little pain, almost full range of movement, and only minor signs of scarring. I love that I heal well from burns.
Anyway, one of my coworkers was looking at it Monday, and said it was looking good, but that I should poke my old man with it, and be all "Look what I have to go through." Basically, be agressive to him for no reason. I take my finger back and say, "No, he kiss better."
And that absolutely stunned my coworker. He had clearly fallen into the sterotypical, expected in the media, kind of man, even with his own wife, and didn't realize men can be good, and compassionate, and care for their woman.
Because every time I'v knocked my finger against something, or it's ached, or peeled, or it's just been ugly, my love has been there to give me kisses. Hell, he was there within seconds when it happened, because he felt my pain.
Not the kind of man to grunt and watch football and not care about my pain.
On top of that, we all went out to eat Monday night. I had a big piece of prime rib, and was struggling to cut it. One, because they didn't give us steak knives. Two, because I still can't put pressure on the first knuckle. Meaning I couldn't hold a knife right. Meaning it sucked. Without me asking, he motioned for my plate and cut my steak for me.
That is love.