The Deathbed

My significant other is sick. She has a fever. It was 101.6. Then a couple hours later it was 102.7. Now it’s under 100. This all took place over the course of 8 or 9 hours. So clearly she’ll be dying soon. That’s right ladies, this guy will soon be on the market. Take a number.

That was a joke. Except for the sick part. She really thinks she’s dying even though she’s pretty much all better.

She texted me while I was at work and I dropped what I was doing to rush home and start the funeral arrangements. I walked in and there she was. Sickly, pale, sweating (surely not from the sweatpants and blanket she was under), so weak. She called me over with a tiny voice. I sat with her, rubbed her feet kept her warm when she was cold, and cooled her off when she was hot (which is always). I even ran to the store, Walmart of all places, to grab some stuff sick people need when they think they’re dying.

She’s pretty much just been lounging on the couch, relaxing, and watching TV with me. It’s been a great evening. We had to cancel some plans, but there will be time to fix that down the road. We’ve had a busy week, haven’t slept much, and a lot has happened. So, I guess she deserves a reprieve. Unfortunately, she’s sick during the reprieve. Sucks to be her.

All jokes and sarcasm aside, I was worried about her, got her all fixed up, she’s doing much better now, and just needs to sleep. A lot. So she may not be dying today. But when she is I’ll be right next to her waiting on her list of Walmart items. You know, because of love and all that jazz.

I hope the day never comes that she truly is truly on her deathbed, at least not in my lifetime. She’s too awesome for anyone to not get to experience her presence.

Anyway, I’m tired and I need to get her showered and in bed.

Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.

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