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If you came because the title caught your eye and you’re up for a sweet and funny Valentine’s Day story, enjoy!
My husband has cooties. That’s what we say in our house when someone has the flu. He started that saying one day when he told my 4 year old daughter, “Don’t get too close, hon, I don’t want you to get my cooties.” We kept it, and now, last night and today, he’s been locked away in his cave, percolating in his cooties!
Now my husband is no Peter Pan or one of the Lost Boys who is looking for a mother.
He won’t be pampered or nagged. He’s pretty stoic. When he’s sick, he’s more likely to be compared to Doc Holliday, in Tombstone, even looking so pathetic!
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When I had the cooties a week or so ago, he went to the store and got Nyquil for me. I take two and I’m knocked out! I can sleep for 12 or 15 hours and when I wake up, I’m usually a lot better. But my husband is different. He can’t take cold medicine (who knows why–he’s just one of those) because he gets very jittery, can’t sleep, and then wakes me up about twenty times a night saying nonsensical things like, “Baby, the girls.” There’s no Nyquil for him; he’ll only take Vitamin M (800mg Motrin, for you old soldiers) to break a fever and quiet the aches.
Now, I’m a Dominican by birth, and cowboys and stoics are not really a Dominican thing, you know? Still, as the years go by, I’ve learned a few things about how to handle a crotchety old cowboy!
My husband loves bread, and he loves when I make it for him. I make it from scratch, starting with milling the wheat myself, and I have several recipes that are favorites of his. He tears into my bread, dipping it in olive oil and spices, or slathering it in butter and honey.
So, today, I made bread, and then I had to run out to pick up some things. He called me, sounding pathetic of course, and said, “Baby, the timer just went off, am I supposed to do something here. I told him to run upstairs and take the bread out of the oven, knowing it’s the one thing he’ll come out of his cave for. It was my early Valentine’s Day gift for him.
And it worked. Look what Doc Holliday wrote on my Facebook, even if he is still locked away in his cave:
How will I know when he’s better? He’ll start teasing the girls about eating all the bread and leaving none for him. He strip the bed apart and wash everything (probably twice.) And, he’ll pour a glass of wine to go with his bread and olive oil. And, he’ll owe me a Valentines Day dinner–I can’t wait to pick the place!