Word of the Papi.

Things are starting to look up in the health area of our home.

Yeah, just in time to enjoy it while running around doing the G'ma's bidding.

At least we're feeling better enough to handle the summons of the old bird.

We're starting to eat real food now.  Perhaps the chicken pakoras last night weren't the right idea, but hey, they tasted so much better than crackers.

So, as I was making veggies to attempt another round of, "Please, please, please my dearest stomach!  I've been so good to you for so many years.  How about we allow a little chard in that empty hole?" I asked my love if he would like to have a few greens in his healing tummy too.

I got the face of squint.

I asked again, in more or less of a rhetorical question, and managed to get him to allow a 'few' on his organic brown rice.

Of course, this will be chased with Dr. Pepper, but at least there's an attempt.

So, I filled my bowl and drizzled with some lovely tahini sauce, I asked my love if he would like anything at all on his bowl of rice.

"Sweety, do you want anything on your veggies?"

"Honey no!!  No vegetable weird shit!"

Word of the Papi.

No vegetable weird shit.

These are the times that I realize he's feeling much better.

That and harassing the old fart upstairs.

She has been quite adamant that she will not allow my love any freedom to be who he needs to be.  We've been hearing about it while she gave us a breather being in Alberta.

"I refuse to call her a man!"

Our sweet aunt said, "Well, you're going to look pretty silly when he has a beard and you refer to him as a woman."

I was told that one had her thinking for a moment.

The cranky ol' thing started in on Papi pretty quickly.  No less than 24 hours into the return and I heard, "You look like you have a moustache."

"That's because I do."

"Well I don't like it.  Please get rid of it."

"There's going to be more to come, so you might as well get used to it."

Oh, but wait, this was also done topless so that the G'ma had to face the facts about the top surgery.

There's just no point in sugar coating it anymore.

The old poop is going to hate everything about anything regardless of what it is anyway, and she's going to be nasty about it on top of that.

So, as I sat downstairs waiting for the conversation to turn into either a religious debate or a homophobic/transphobic slamming of my love, I was pleasantly surprised.

The G'ma gave in.

It was a most shocking moment.

This could be the beginning of a calm household, right?

Or perhaps the old coot is just warming up.

I bet on the latter.

i am glowing with health and wellness