Reason # 17357 that Mike is awesome

It’s been a difficult, difficult week, and so despite the fact that I was PMSing and already starting to feel lousy, I had day-old pizza and Smirnoff’s for dinner Saturday night. I think Mike was glad to see me relax because I’d been extremely cranky all day, even though he was being a trouper and relentlessly nice to me. While I stalked around snapping and snarling he merely kept saying things like, “Let me know if you want to cuddle, sweetheart,” and, “How can I help you, my goddess?”

After the usual Saturday night Law & Order episodes were done we played a fierce game of Katamari Damacy and, ah, exercised before going to bed.

Well, I guess it was all too much. My body couldn’t handle the activity, the emotions, the hormones, the competition, the booze, and the greasy food. So it did what it could do, and got rid of what it could get rid of. I soon found myself in the bathroom, throwing up.

Now, our only bathroom is connected to the bedroom, and for some reason it was missing its door when Mike first moved in. We never could find the door or get a replacement, so we hung up a curtain. Mike could hear everything I was up to, and he was concerned.

“Um…do you want me to hold your hair?” he asked me.

“No,” I replied. When I throw up I prefer to work alone.

“Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine,” I called back. I cleaned up as best I could, brushed my teeth, and dragged myself back to bed.

Instead of complaining about having woken him up, telling me that I should have eaten better, or merely being smug that I got what I deserved after a day of bitchiness, Mike merely rubbed my back gently and said in a concerned voice, “Hey beautiful, I hope you feel better.”

He’s sweet. I married a keeper.