You know it’s love when…?

It’s recently come to my attention that apparently, I’m disgusting and a bit of a handful in that three year old child type of way.  And maaaaybe, just mayyybbbe, I should be nicer and a bit more appreciative towards BoyToy.

After walking to and from that interview at the gym yesterday in my black dress shoes, THREE blisters formed on my feet (three blisters ALL FOR NOUGHT!) and BoyToy came home to me googling remedies for blisters.  Which really means images of massive pus filled blisters were plastered all over my screen.

He sneaks up behind me and tells me in creepy “I’m Doctor Google” voice that there are only two ways to get rid of blisters.  You can drain them or you can just let them heal on their own.  Then he looks at my feet (in disgust) and says, “I’d recommend you drain those.  Want me to do that for you?”

Uhhhh. duh.  (I ain’t popping no blisters myself!)

After taking about 15 minutes to sterilize the needle and making a big show of putting on a pair of gloves, preparing a towel, getting bandages and tissues (“Patient is prepared”), he pops, drains, and bandages the blisters.  All to the tune of my squealing and writhing in pain.  (So it didn’t really hurt THAT much, it’s more that I’m just a brat.)

Later that night, you know, like any Friday night, I was at our favourite local Japanese Karaoke bar wailing along to Bohemian Rhapsody, drowning in pitchers of Sapporo with some friends.  I was regaling my couple friend “Naggie” with the riveting tale of my blister adventures earlier that day when Nicholas goes, “Ohhhh he DID that for you?  Oh that’s GROSS.  I don’t think I’d ever do that for Magz.”

I definitely did not mention to them then that that isn’t even the most disgusting thing he’s had to clean up after….

I’m going to admit something potentially embarrassing here (other than my most recent obsession with The Wanted’s new music video, which has been playing on loop over here for the past couple of days.  And yes, my favourite British friend, Billy Elliot, has already let me know I am a disgrace and that our friendship is now on probation because of that little tidbit).

There was that time about two months after we started dating when we drank about three drinks too many in the span of forty five minutes and I ended up throwing up into his kitchen sink while he had to hold my hair back.  He leads me towards the bed and after about ten minutes comes and lies down next to me.

“Hey uhhh, did you have chicken for dinner tonight or something?”

“Uhhhh maybe…why?”

“Oh, I just picked out a huge chunk of something that looked like chicken from the sink.”

(o. m. g.)

And then there was that time he left for work first and I then had to use the washroom.  For something other than a number one.

But instead of using the washroom like a normal person, apparently, I clog it and he comes home during his lunch hour to an overflowing toilet situation.  And while I’m at work, I get a text message from him.

“Thanks for doing the dishes and making the bed.  By the way, I think you clogged my toilet.  I came home for lunch today and my toilet overflowed.  I won’t get into the details, but it was everywhere.  Tears were streaming down my face and I gagged and threw up.  See you tonight!”

O. M. G.

CAN YOU SAY MORTIFIED?

But you know, these things, that’s gotta mean something like love right??

Who needs flowers, chocolates, and giant teddy bears when you have someone that cleans up your puke, poop, and pus AMIRIGHT?!

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