Sunday, November 25, 2012

Bing Crosby was almost my great-grandpa.

It's true.
For those of you who don't know who Bing Crosby is, GO HOME.



I sing Christmas music year-round. I'm a really good singer. People compare my voice to singers like Beyonce, Mr. Crosby, Eminem, and maybe even a little Carrie Underwood. I'm just a really good singer. It's whatevs. Listen to me here.

We put ornaments on our tree today.  I had a moment. The kind of moment where I look at my husband and realize how lucky I am. Then I feel the pain of the open cold sores in and around my mouth and remember that he is the one who gave me this disease. For those of you who don't know, I have herpes.

It's nothing new. I got it last year when I kissed my husband after not seeing him for 3+ months. I was unaware he was just getting over a cold sore. After coming down with a fever, throwing up, dehydrating and getting an IV to restore my fluids, I thought I might be sick. Then my gums became swollen and so painful that I couldn't even smile, let alone try to brush my teeth without bursting into tears. Then came my very first cold sore. It was a bad one. So bad, in fact, that it decided to invite every relative ever to come stay in my mouth. My bottom gums became ulcerated and exposed my nerves, resulting in me getting surgery. (That weird thing that looks like a piece of chewed gum is actually the roof of my mouth, which is now attached to my bottom gums.) Needless to say, my husband felt pretty bad. As he should.



On a cuter note, our tree is covered in family-friendly ornaments decorated by none other than the husband of yours truly. (Meaning my husband. Isn't he so crafty?)





Ending note: Husband called me a Downy Debber today.