Honey, Honey.

Last night as I lay in bed, I paused in my reading to ask Doug a question. Without looking up from the catalog I was perusing I could tell he was looking at me. When Doug didn’t answer my question I turned to face him.

“It hurts my eyes to look at you,” he said grimacing.

I must be feeling insecure these days because I instantly thought of the unshed baby weight, the zits on my face, and the roots accompanying my not-so nice haircut. “Uh, thanks?” I replied slightly stunned.

“No, no.” croaked Doug. “I mean my eyes really hurt.”

I gave an inward sigh of relief. Of course that’s what he meant. He’d been quite sick for the past two days and certainly his eyes were affected. Silly for me for misunderstanding.

So, when we drifted off to sleep several minutes later and Doug moaned “It hurts me to tell you I love you,” I didn’t jump to the conclusion that our relationship pained him. Poor guy. Good thing I’m such an understanding and inert wife.