Mr. Sickie is feeling a little better from the antibiotic poisoning.
I've been the one tended to for a few days, and the greatest part is having my love make me food.
I'm entertained with award winning monologues of, "Ohmygodthisisgross," and "How do you eat this shit?!" Not to mention, the gagging sounds that mi esposo is prone to, when trying to hit it home about how my whole food diet disgusts him.
This is coming from someone who eats an entire bag of Mini Eggs for dinner.
We're talking Costco size, not just the corner store bags that are an appropriate amount of sugar for our systems to work with.
Yeah, they're pretty tasty, yet they embody the yum that I must skip out on, or we'd wind up with a visit from Hurricane Andréa, narcolepsy and a sinus infection from hell.
Anyway, point is, my dearest Papi is definitely feeling better.
The other day, we invited My Gratitude Buddy over, and my love cleaned the kitchen for the visit.
That's a good points winner, right there.
Something else tells me that Papi is feeling better.
There was a bit of a showdown between 2 members of the Fuzzy Family yesterday.
Actually, the introduction of the two Alpha maples has been going quite well. There have been the ever so classy cat call of the wild between the The Bastard Prince and Psycho Kitty, but not too much in the way of physical attacks.
That was until yesterday afternoon.
Papi thought it would be a good idea to throw the cats together so they could work it out.
I'm not kidding.
There was a screeching of doom, roars of pain, and pet food dishes added a ring to the upper register of this Tom Cat Operetta.
Of course, this was complete with a foreboding of death like all good dramas.
This was the aftermath:
As well, during my few days of flu delirium, there was another sign of mi esposo feeling well.
My love felt the need to show me just how much ass hair is forcing it's way through his orb, in an effort to run to the light, and added, "Yup! All that is goodness is going to spread over to my ass cheeks."
The Tranny Terrorist has risen.
As much as Papi is working up his newest routine of ways to toment me, there has been no interest in sex for my love.
I suppose feeling like a gargantuan bag of pus for the past 2 months would be the reason, no?
That's no problem, however, this also includes cuddles.
Right now, I wanna cozy in with my love, but he just feels so horrible. The only thing I get right now, is a vertical hug, or a bedtime snuggle with his right arm.
When I saw Papi flaunt his ass crack in pride, I got my hopes up that perhaps, just maybe, this is the last round of illness, and that this is all going to be over soon.
Dare to dream, eh?