And here is yet another reason why:
“An Ace bandage!”
“I wonder if an Ace bandage would help”, I muse, as I have one boob in each hand, scrunching up blanket to go in between and under them. Unsuccessfully, I should add.
“How are you planning to use it?”
“Hmm… wrap my boobs? Keep them immobilized, and then the bandage would also hit where the spasm is? I don’t know. I wish I had a morphine drip. Or some Demeral”
“Maybe we have one in the first aid kit in the car”
God I wish he meant Demeral; he means the ace bandage.
There isn’t one in the car. The gift shop closed at 11 and it’s now 11:30. “They sell them there, and they open at seven!” the impossibly chipper night clerk from the front desk informed me, before she perkily offered to have the Disney paramedics come out to “wrap it” for me. I thought about it. But, uh, no.
So where is my husband right now?
Out. Driving around until he finds somewhere to buy an Ace bandage.
“honey. Seriously. There’s no guarantee that the bandage will work. I’ll be OK, I fell asleep eventually last night and the night before…”
“but you’ll suffer all night, and this might work. I’ll be back”
You can have your flowers and your surprise bottles of wine and your sensual foot rubs and your special songs. I have this.