without me he would just be a head
Guess who didn't start knitting socks this past weekend. Yes, it's me, but before you get all judgey I will tell you I didn't knit because I was in pain from a freak dishwasher unloading accident. On Friday night I was putting clean dishes away, and as I went to remove some silverware, the tine of a fork went up under my right thumbnail. Anyone who's had anything shoved under their nails, ever, knows how painful that is. Fortunately there was no bleeding, but it was pretty tender for the whole weekend and the thought of knitting did not appeal. It's feeling better, though, so those socks will get made. I know how worried you are about that and I just want to put your mind at rest.
So, I feel bad today. Not physically--I feel worried about Francisco because he's in pain and it's all my fault. See, Internet, he had this mole on his back that I was v. concerned about. It had gotten larger and darker in the last couple of years, so he had it looked at maybe a year ago (Doctor was unconcerned), but it got EVEN LARGER and was two-tone, and basically it looked like some pictures of melanomas I saw in a magazine, so I more or less insisted that he make Doctor look at it again. Doctor was, again, unconcerned [though that goddamn mole fell into four categories of moles the experts say you should have checked: 1) it got larger 2) it changed color 3) it was bigger (MUCH bigger) than a pencil eraser 4) it was asymmetrical], but this time Doctor said he would take it off if Francisco wanted him to. Francisco didn't, particularly, but because he knew I would absolutely lose my shit with worry if he came back home with that mole, he had it removed. They had to put in FIVE stitches [which gives you an idea of the size of that fucking mole] and of course now Francisco is in discomfort. I certainly don't want to hope that it was a melanoma, just so its removal would vindicate my worry, but the idea that my poor husband subjected himself to pain for no reason except I made him doesn't exactly make me feel like Wife of the Year. So maybe I should hope that it's not a melanoma but that something about it indicates if it hadn't been removed it would have turned into a melanoma...? And that Francisco then would have had to have his whole torso removed? Yes, that is what I will hope for; confirmation that without my incessant harping over that mole, he would eventually have lost his entire torso. You know, that man should be very thankful to have me.
Not a lot to tell you about the weekend. I got a whole bunch of stuff done, even in spite of my damaged thumb, and Twyla, BroCo, and the girls came over yesterday for a late lunch. Fun! Also we watched a lot of soccer and The Wire, and as usual when we've watched The Wire, I have gangsta dreams all night long. Oh, and new this weekend was Esther's return to the bed. She hadn't been sleeping with us, not for months and months, but all of a sudden the bed's the place to be. I love that, even though it means me contorting myself around her as she peacefully slumbers right in my leg-space. Old kitties get to sleep wherever they want: That's the rule.
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