Touché

I may have found the first way to joke about Papi's top surgery.

I wanted my love to change the channel last night, but mi esposo was too busy with the tippity-tappity of a Facebook chat to respond. 

oh, no no no. you know better than that. i will not be ignored.

"Change the fucking channel or I'll poke you in the ribs."  I made a gesture that was at least 10 inches away from my love, but it worked.

"Ok!  Ok!  Just gimme a sec!  Don't come any closer!"

I crept a little closer, "I'm coming in for the kill," I said with my best Hannibal Lecter impersonation.

The channel was changed.

There was no need for me to jab an area that has left Papi without the ability to raise arms any higher than the elbow.

Aha!

I have power!

I think Papi and I both know that I would never intentionally cause any pain to mi esposo, but damn, this could be fun.

do my bidding.

After the channel was changed, and the remote handed over to me, Papi headed for the shower.  Yet mi esposo was again terrified to get in, for fear of nipples sliding down the drain.

I'm pretty sure we're past that point, but Papi hasn't really let me see them since I last saw them and gave the cringe face.

"Don't make that face!  You make me feel ugly!"

My love, it is not you that I'm cringing at.

It's the thought of stitches all around my very own nipple.  The look of the raw, red, angry looking areola that I just know must be painful.

That's what the cringe is for.

It's also for the new scars that inhabit the majority of my love's ribs.  Hell, it even took out a small portion of the sugar skull tattoo on Papi's right side.

It is not my love who I cringe at.

It is the thought of the pain.

It is the thought of how it must obviously hurt to raise those arms, because that would inevitably pull on those bitter red lines that look so precarious, they could actually just split apart with the simplest of reaches.

like changing the channel?

The tape that holds the last portion of those ruby lines is now a darkened brown.  The evidence of sacred blood escaping Papi's body.

Yes.

This is what the cringe is about:

How about you?

Does it send shivers through your stomach thinking of how it would hurt, pull, ache?

did you cringe?

It's so difficult to think of my love going through this to feel better within a body that I found already perfect.

Anyway, the point is, I am getting used to The Great Breast Disappearance.

I must be, because I found a way to torment the Tranny Terrorist, and as long as I can do that, I know I'm healing.

My next mission is dealing with the man hair that is squatting on Papi's legs.  Great black furry bristles.

"Touch them!  They are smooth and silky!"

No, Papi, I don't see the softness of female hair.

I see evidence of an F-M changing into the person I didn't marry.

hmmmm ... shave it or I'll poke you in the ribs!

Oh wait, it was me who said it would look ridiculous for a male to have shaved legs right?

Even I have troubles keeping up with my 'rules'.