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  • Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I, I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.
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My husband loves me. I know this for many reasons, but I am reflecting now on his willingness to suffer on my behalf. This is evidenced to me by many instances, but the following two stand out most at the moment.

The first example of this is pore extraction. (well, I was trying to make that sound nicer than it is…didn’t work) You see, I come from a long line of pimple poppers. I have a very vivid memory of my mother at chasing after my brother to squeeze some unfortunate eruption. One must understand that the compulsion to squeeze pimples, blackheads, or large pores (ugh, I am grossing myself out as we speak) is not completely under my control (hence the use of the word compulsion). Sometimes it takes all of my willpower not to squeeze the pores of strangers or patients. It really is rather like an addiction (hmmm wonder if there is a 12 step program out there for that).  My father, who is prone to blackheads, has been the target of my squeezing impulses and will no longer tolerate it, which is for the best because that is kind of weird.  Now, this need to squeeze does apply to my own pores in moderation and when necessary, but there is not nearly the level of satisfaction because you see, it hurts. And I do not like to hurt.

So my husband’s nose is often the target of my ministrations. Oily T-Zone and all. Happens to the best of us. He lovingly puts up with it about 70% of the time.  He shoos me away the rest of the time, but I know that my persistence wins out in the end.


Scenario #2. True love.

I like to whine. Carefully controlled and moderated, I think. Purposeful and intentional and in the right circumstance, I find a good whine to be immensely satisfying. Most of the time it is a playful whine, and I am only half-serious. I have been working on establishing a new workout routine with a goal of beginning to train for a 5K in one month (I am quite overweight and not a runner so this is a great goal for me). My husband offered to help me with my strength training routine and yesterday we had planned for him to show me how to use a new resistance band), like my own personal trainer. What a great opportunity for a well-orchestrated whining session! “It hurts”, “Its too hard” “Owww”, “You’re killing me”. And so forth. I was enjoying myself immensely and getting a good work-out, when about half-way through I realized that I must be taking it a little too far as he was starting to feel like I didn’t really want to be there and that he was wasting his time (where he got that idea, I have no clue). So, I had to explain that the whining was just a bit of fun, and that I really did want to work-out and that I really did appreciate his help and really liked having him be my personal trainer. He laughed, said I was crazy and we moved on to the next set.


Its good to be loved.


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