W has been home sick for the past two weeks. And two days. Not that I’m counting or anything.
She’s had pneumonia. She’s been on steroids.
Her internal thermostat is out of whack.
It is 3o degrees outside. W is wearing a camisole. Our bedroom window is open. The overhead fan is on.
She’s like this guy:
W tells me to put on more clothes.
“I can only get so naked,” she says. “You can keep putting on more clothes.”
It is one of the few times in my life that the prospect of a naked woman does absolutely nothing for me.
I ask W if she wants me to look like this dude:
She suggests that I move into the spare room upstairs where it’ll be warmer.
I know she is kidding. I know she can’t sleep without me.
But baby, it’s cold in here.
We had a great Thanksgiving day.
And then I was getting ready for bed. You know, putting on my flannel PJs.
“I think I’m getting sick,” I told W.
“Maybe you’re hung over,” she said.
I did drink a lot of red wine. Various relatives kept telling me it was “sipping” wine. Whatever that means.
Turns out it wasn’t a hangover. It was a cold.
I cleared my schedule for the following week and stayed in bed watching wrestling videos. Don’t judge.
W was great. She bought groceries and brought me food and took care of things around the house.
Truth be told, I wasn’t that sick. I felt like I needed some down time, and for once my schedule was cooperative.
“You usually don’t let me help you,” W commented the other night.
I don’t. I’m a butch. We can do everything ourselves. We don’t need help. Even when we’re sick.
Don’t tell the other butches … but it was kind of nice to be taken care of for a few days.
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Are you a can-do butch? Do you find it hard to ask for and accept help?