My Real Boyfriend.

This morning my husband had a little minor surgery. It involved a trip to the hospital and some anesthesia. When I picked him up, the nurse looked at me and said, "He's going to be a little groggy. Take him home and put him to bed. If he gets home and remembers none of this, that's normal. No major decisions today."

To which, Jeff pipes in, "What do you mean no major decisions?"

"Don't buy a car or a house or anything today."

We smile and nod our agreement.

However, on the drive home this is really bothering (inebriated) Jeff. Despite the fact that he's slurring his speech and repeatedly asking the same questions, he thinks he's going to work and buying a house today.

"I mean, that bothers me. I'm just fine. I know what I want. A Toyota Tundra and a house on five acres. Right? I'm thinking straight."

"Yeah, Honey. Sure."

I was tempted to take him to Macy's and ask him if he likes cashmere sweaters. Or maybe the Humane Society and ask him if he likes puppies. But I didn't. I put him to bed.

{photo from our son's birth three years ago... the last time Jeff had a hospital ID band.}