My man is tough, no doubt about it. When the flu hit me a few days ago I told everyone I could think of and kept looking at my tongue in the mirror to see if it had fallen out yet.
But the bug hit him first and he still has it… Yet he met his tennis pals Monday night just the same because… well, you can’t let three people down who are expecting to play double, can you? Then Tuesday night he let Annie and me take him out to dinner – again after a full day’s work. (Yes he’s going to work every day.) Then Wednesday night he had a business dinner at The Capital Grille when I know very well that the thought of downing red meat made his gorge rise. And finally last night he had the fellas over for bridge and those three guests were drinkin’ and hollerin’ about the state of the world ‘til way past midnight.
I don’t know how he did it. All I could manage was writing every day and getting my hair dyed – and that last thing nearly killed me.
“My god what an ordeal!” I cried, on coming back home after three hours in the salon. “No more roots though! Here, take a picture with my phone!”
And he did and here it is:
If only HE wrote a blog I often think, because for sure you’re only gettin’ half the story from me.