It’s been a pretty ridiculous week. My usual Tuesday night escapades were enhanced by the addition of Joker and London. She’s Joker’s new girlfriend. I like her a lot and really hope it works out between them. She and I have only hung out twice but already we’ve become close. They joined me for karaoke and were going to bring AngryGinger and Irish, but as is the usual, that failed. We had a pretty great time just the three of us though. And it allowed me to talk with them about things I would be unable to if Irish were present. Since none of us had to be up early the next day, we stayed all night and partied and danced. Joker even got up there and sang. I was ecstatic. We were still a bit foggy when we left at 1am, so I suggested we walk to Sheetz and get subs. It’s only 10 blocks. Well they got halfway and wanted to turn back, swearing it was more than the 10 blocks I’d claimed. I then explained that 10 blocks in my town is not the same as, say, DC blocks, which are distinct and uniform (hah). But it was less than a mile and the military should’ve hardened Joker for that sort of thing. Admittedly though, even I was cold on the way back after getting foods. And I was wearing my leather coat. We parted ways when we returned and I went to my parents’ house to sleep off the booze.
At about 330am, my phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number and the half-asleep me didn’t answer it. Turns out, the number was for the hospital and it was Irish calling me. I woke up again at 530 and saw the voicemail message. He had dislocated his shoulder in his sleep and took an ambulance ride to the hospital. Apparently he called because he knew I’d be upset if he went to the hospital and didn’t tell me. Well that’s the least I’d be. So it was a good call on his part. Of course my first course of action was to call the hospital and locate him and find out his condition. He wasn’t there. He had been discharged not 15 minutes before. So I texted him, surprisingly got a response, and was informed he was home safe and in pain, but fine and was not going to work because he would need a ride and I was an hour away.
I freaked out a bit, to say the least, but in reality I knew he was okay and that if he needed me, he’d let me know, right? Oh, the lies I tell myself. I told him I’d try to get home earlyish to take care of him later, hoping to stay true to it.
Well, as is the norm, things got crazy and I didn’t get home til around 630. I walk in and he’s on the couch, shirtless, and has the most complicated looking sling I’ve ever seen. The look on his face said it all. He was miserable, tired, hungry, and just all around torn up. I could tell he needed some attention, but didn’t want to dote on him since he hates that. That didn’t last long.
We ordered pizza for dinner since he could eat that with one hand and I set him up with an ice pack and anything else he needed. Then he says to me, “you’re gonna have to drive me to work tomorrow.” Which, first off, was not a request, it was an order, and secondly, way to assume I’d do that. Well I would. And I did.
I drove him over an hour to work then came home, waited til 4, then drove back to pick him up and brought him home. The next day, he didn’t have work because he was getting laser eye surgery, right next to his office. So I had to drive all the way back again. Then the next day for a followup consult. The surgery made it so that he was even more hopeless helpless and I had to continue to wait on him, hand and foot. Not that it was that bad, since he slept most of the time. I had already planned on baking him a cake to celebrate his new eyesight, so I did that while he was asleep. However, I realized I’d hard boiled all the eggs I bought and had to get some from Gunnie, as he was the nearest friend and I didn’t want to leave Irish alone in the house with one arm and no eyes. Well, Gunnie talks a bit loudly, and he hung out to chat for awhile, which meant that Irish woke up earlier than I expected and caught me mid-cake-baking. He wasn’t all that thrilled it seemed, but honestly I don’t think I’ve ever seen him thrilled for anything. Or even all that excited. The most excitement I’ve seen from him was because of his eye surgery, and that’s because he was fixing something that he’d been dealing with for about 20 years. I wish he’d get excited for anything involving me…sigh…anyway, that’s not the point I was making. Granted, after I had taken the cake out of the oven, he kept asking if he could have a piece, but it had to cool off before I could frost it and then cut him a piece. He seemed pretty happy about it though. Over the next few days, he occasionally said in the cutest, most helpless voice “Can I have a piece of cake?” even if it was for breakfast. And yes, I gave it to him. I gave him anything he wanted all weekend and then some. Of course, I also had to take what I wanted from him, refuting his “but I don’t think I can do anything without it hurting”. I proved that to be wrong. Heh. Anyway…
Monday rolled around and I drove him to/from work again, but told him I couldn’t do it Tuesday/Wednesday since I’d be at my mother’s house working on my halloween costume. He almost freaked a bit, and I said “Look, if I didn’t think you were capable of driving yourself, I wouldn’t make you or even let you do it.” So when he got in his car on Tuesday morning and drove off without me, I knew I’d been right. Otherwise, he would’ve come back to make me drive him. Right? Again with #theliesitellmyself. I texted him later and he said he was alive, which was not what I wanted to hear, but it was acceptable, and meant that he managed to get there unscathed and it wasn’t an issue. So I was off the hook, right? Nope. I forgot that he has to go back for another post-op consult on Saturday morning, which means I’m driving to DC again. Joy. Then another at 30 days. Why he can’t just do these on his lunch break, I have no idea. It took literally about 10 minutes.
Oh well, at least he gave me some gas money to compensate. Though I did inform him that he owes me serious lovings when he stops being injured and that he’s still backlogged for missing the wedding ceremony. He doesn’t understand why that’s such a big deal to me, but I can’t really explain it to him well enough. I mean, I wanted pictures of us together, I wanted pics with the happy couple, I wanted him to see me walk down the aisle, and I wanted to catch his eye when he first saw me, seeing his reaction to my temporary beautifulness. I didn’t get any of that. When he finally did show up, he was so frustrated with traffic and the whole situation, that all he could say was “you look nice”. What the hell is that?! I’m in a $300 dress, with $150 of hair and makeup, and all you can say is I look “nice”?! Ugh! I have not been called “beautiful” by anyone besides my parents and family friends. Never a boyfriend. What is wrong with this picture? I mean, I’m not ugly, from what I can tell. I’m no supermodel, but I’m not ugly. He repeated says “you’re very pretty,” but does it in a very derogatory way, while patting my head. Just once, I’d like to be beautiful.
I even talked to him recently about his lack of affection toward me, and that he’d done a few and it always makes me melt, so why not do it more. The response I get: because if I did it all the time, it wouldn’t be special. What?! It shouldn’t be “special” it should be normal. Dealing with him is like pulling teeth sometimes, I swear.
And yet, I put up with all of this crap and more, all because I love the boy. I must be the best girlfriend in the world.