This morning I was tired, from insomnia-caused sleep deprivation and from far too much exercise over the past several days. The Sober Husband called my attention to the fact that one of my foster kittens had diarrhea (in the litterbox, good kitten, and which I had already realized and arranged to get some medications). I had a realization and shared it with him.
"I feel that almost everything you say to me is conveying a piece of negative information. Like that almost everything you talk about is either damage or disgustingness caused by animals or [perennial topic of anomie and worry not appropriate for the public]. It's making me fear you opening your mouth. I'm dreading talking to you. We need to fix that."
The Sober Husband feistily argued the point with me for a while, which caused me to further stiffen in my views. Then he broke off and stared at the latest foster kitten. "That orange one is over there.... " He paused. "Being cute."
I walked over and saw the kitten, bent over vomiting heartily. I turned to the Sober Husband and ran my hand through his hair affectionately. "Well said!"
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