So I am not sure if I covered this or not, but I am teaching a class at my alma mater on Thursday nights. This particular Thursday was grueling. . . . long day at the 'real job' and straight to class all while dealing with an amazing headache behind my left eye. All day I could only focus 8% on my tasks at hand while the rest of my thoughts were consumed by the throbbing pain of my eye. I almost ended up just staying in St. Joe that night just so that I wouldn't have to squint at the road with my one remaining, good eye.
Upon arrival at home, I realized that migraine wasn't a brain related at all. . . it was a deep zit in my eyebrow. To which my husband (who has a secret love of popping zits) offered to help extract the pain. I balked initially but went ahead with it.
My dad fondly tells a story about putting hemorrhoid cream on my mom's posterior during pregnancy. For the past 20 years I have understood this to be the pinacle of marital familiarity. Gross but comforting in a weird way. For 20 years I have wondered if I would ever feel comfortable enough to let someone apply salve to my sacred spaces. Thursday I let my husband pop a zit to relieve a headache.
I guess we have arrived.