DW teases me often. It’s never hurtful or mean, only lighthearted and playful. I can especially count on him to point out the obvious when I make a dumb mistake, finding humor in everything. His jovial personality keeps me from taking things too seriously or becoming wrapped up in drama and emotion. Sometimes, he doesn’t even have to say anything. His eyes are full of laughter.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I giggle back often.
Yesterday I absently picked up our toaster by grabbing the opening where you put the bread. Apparently the metal lip folded under is not smooth or finished like the rest of the shiny body. As I placed the toaster into the cabinet, my pointer finger slid across the inner edge. Immediately I dropped the appliance with a thud, pain shooting up my finger towards my hand. My arm felt weak, blood burned quickly.
“Go get Dad,” I croaked, “and have him bring the band-aids.”
The Tortoise was also in the kitchen helping me clean up before dinner. Without hesitation she rushed upstairs while I ran my finger under cold water. My finger throbbed.
“What’d you do now?” DW bellowed down the stairs.
I braced myself for a joke or two, still holding my finger under the steady stream. But as our eyes met, he silently walked through the kitchen. DW held my finger firmly in a paper towel, my arm wrapped around him while I hid behind his back. I leaned my head against him, waiting.
“There, all better,” he said, securing a band-aid and giving me a big hug, “you okay?”
“Yeah,” I answered sheepishly, “it just startled me.”
“I bet,” he smiled, “you looked pretty freaked out.”
There was no more talk about the incident.
The alarm clock woke us up at 5:45 this morning. My finger still throbbed, probably from being tucked under my head all night. I slipped quietly out of bed to make sure The Tortoise was up and make a quick potty stop. We wake up in the dark. The first light of the day peaks out under doorways and around hall corners. It is found in tiny patches of illuminated numbers and blinking machines.
I decided to slip back into bed, snuggle under the covers between DW and Luna. The heat from DW’s body felt good against the cold. He stirred slightly and reached for my hand, placing a hot kiss on my bandaged finger, pulling me even closer to him. I don’t think any joke or sharp wit could have made me smile any bigger than that moment.
“Happiness is not a goal…it’s a by-product of a life well lived.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt
*This post was also inspired by today’s WordPress Daily Prompt: First Light