After my last post, I went into the kitchen to take my medicine. I promptly threw it, along with any beverage I'd consumed, up. So I called the doctor office, and they said it was probably because I hadn't had anything solid on my stomach. I took another pill with some toast. My husband later said he was going to the store, and did I need anything. I said well some roast chicken and mashed potatoes from KFC might help me with my medicine, if that was okay for dinner. An hour later he waltzes into the bedroom with a plate of food from Checkers, plops down in his easy chair, kicks back and starts chowing down on his double cheese burger. Meanwhile I am curled fetal position on my chaise lounge with my eyes too heavy to open, but I ask "is the chicken in the kitchen?" I get a sincere, "Oh, man, I forgot, but I'll go back out." Seriously. Freaking seriously. AND NO, I did not want him to go back out. I made him walk his step-son's seriously disturbed dog instead. Oh, by the way, Dubs and I are doing super. He even comes to me for head scratches and cuddles.