Wherein I Go Batshit Insane; aka, The Most Romantic Day of My Life

Let me preface this by saying, as most of you know, I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and take Paxil CR to keep it in check. I was diagnosed with the condition over 12 years ago but I've had it all my life so I'm rather used to it. It's kind of like a soul-mate or a best friend.

Today David and I were sitting on the back porch as I chain-smoked (see previous post) when a huge-ass mosquito landed on my Birkenstocked-up foot and started sucking quite a bit of blood from me. As soon as I felt it I slammed my foot down upon the patio so hard that my shoe flew off. Anyway, drama over. Mosquito bite on my foot, not the biggest deal ever.

Well, as David continued to sit there with me as I chain-smoked (and judged me for it in his mind, I'm sure,) that damn mosquito decided to make its presence known once again by landing on my left arm. My first instinct, which I followed, was to slam my right hand down upon the mosquito as quickly and as hard as I could. That's normal, right? Well once I pulled my hand off and saw the horror that was upon me, I hit panic attack central.

There were blood and guts and splayed-out mosquito all over my arm and my hand had a huge blood spot on it. (As an aside, I couldn't actually see the guts but you know they had to be there.) As I'm sitting there with my arm and hand held out for David to see, with a look of horror on my face, saying, "Oh my god oh my god oh my god I'm going to die this will actually kill me oh my god I'm going to have to cancel coffee with Erica so I can take a shower oh my god I'm actually dying right now I can feel the breath leaving my body oh my god," over and over again, my husband LEAPT from his chair and ran inside like a man on fire.

He came back outside within seconds, but I must admit that it felt like years, and he handed me a TISSUE. A TISSUE. Like that was going to do me any good. "A tissue?! A TISSUE?!" I screamed at him, grabbing what happened to be what I'm sure was a perfectly good napkin (but I swear it looked like a tissue at the time) and proceeded to scrub the ever-loving shit out of my arm and hand. When that didn't work, I, (and I am so ashamed to admit this that I'm afraid I'll have to turn in my OCD decoder ring AND membership card) dipped that napkin in the dog's bowl of water and once again began to scrub vigorously.

David seeing how panic stricken and INSANE I had become ran back inside to grab what I assumed to be wet paper towels so that I could continue the scrubbing process. When he returned, he handed me, (what I had never thought of nor would ever have assumed he would think of in a million years,) a bottle of hand-sanitizer.

And this is how I know that I married the right man.