you know he's whooped when . . .

you know your man is whooped when he suggests you meet at rubios after working late.  he gets a chicken burrito and you get a blackened mahi bowl.  a few hours later, you're not feeling too well.  it appears that your food doesn't seem to be digesting, but rather defying gravity.  you try to ignore it, but as the night goes on you realize "it seems hot in here" and "i seriously think i'm going to throw up".  you tell him about your hunch, and he stumbles in with the trash can to stow by your side of the bed.  an hour later, you fill up that trash can running to the bathroom.  through the tears, you open your eyes enough to realize that he didn't empty the trash can before he gave it to you.  come morning, you tell precious husband thank you, but ink cartridges and dirty napkins may have aggravated the stomach some.  it's another case of 'now we know for next time'.  the thought of that trash can is making your eyes water and you don't know how you're going to face it.  and then suddenly, you hear something.  the love of your life is cleaning that puppy out.

would i do it for him?  i couldn't even handle my own vomit, let alone his!  he's a far better person than i am.  he really is.  and his no sense of smell may have helped a tid bit.