I take care of my man, even when he’s a pain in my butt. I mean, who else would get up out of a warm snuggly bed to go down to the car at midnight where there could potentially be raccoons that might attack me because the car is by the garbage pails and everyone knows that raccoons are violent and like garbage in the night, just to search for an inhaler when my husband says he feels wheezy?
(mean racoon that wants to use my leg as his next meal)
One would think that the said inhaler would be on the said asthmatic’s side of the bed, within reach. One might go so far as to think that at least one of the forty seven thousand inhalers that I have purchased would be somewhere in the bedroom, bathroom or upstairs region of an asthmatic’s house.
Like does anyone out there know a chronic asthmatic that doesn’t carry his inhaler with him like a big boy?? Why, when we are halfway to a destination, will he look at me and say, “So did you pack me an inhaler?” And I might just say, "Of course I packed you an inhaler Hon." Because I am all lovey like that. And because I know with every fiber of my being Hon will not remember to pack himself an inhaler. I mean, I don’t want him to start wheezing and not be able to breathe, so obviously I make a point to have the proper medication on hand at all times. One might think the asthmatic might take the bull by the horns and keep track of his own life saving medicine, wouldn’t one?
Well. One better get his damn inhalers in strategic spots all over the house so the other one doesn’t have to get out of her snuggly warm bed and face vicious, man eating raccoons in the dead of night ever again.
One is definitely lucky that I love him, and his lungs.
I'd say a "wife of the year" award is in order... or something. ;)
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