There are times when my body likes to remind me I’m not as perfect as my ego would have me believe, and one such instance occurred over the weekend.
ENTER: MIGRAINE FROM HELL.
Like any warrior, I did my best to tough it out by consuming large quantities of cheese and denial, but my body wasn’t having any of my shenanigans. I ended the night huddled in the corner of my darkened living room with only my phone to connect me to the outside world because as any doctor will tell you, staring at a smart phone screen is the best way to cure a migraine.
My husband, Vader love him, had to put up with hours of garbled, angry texts.
Jen: Autocorrect has failed me. …And in my time of Ned.
Need. Fuck. Not Ned.
I’m not getting beheaded.
Actually, my head hurts bad enough…you know what? Just chop it off. Here’s the sword, Jon Snow.
Joe: The one who passes the sentence should swing the sword.
Jen: You and your damn honor. I can’t exactly do it myself, now can I?
Joe: Sure, you can. I’ve done it.
Jen: Liar. Your head’s still attached. You aren’t even a Nearly Headless Nick.
Joe: You haven’t seen my neck in awhile. For all you know, I could be a head in a jar.
Jen: I’ve just checked all your recent photos. Verdict still stands: Liar.
Jen: I win. You lose. Cut off my head.
Joe: No. It will solve nothing.
Jen: Oh, come on! I’d cut off your head if you asked.
Joe: No, you wouldn’t.
Jen: You’re right. I wouldn’t. But I’d at least lie to you and say I would to make you feel better. And really, isn’t that what marriage is all about?