The morning after a toe injury:
“Eric, my little toe is still hurting. Look at it. Tell me how bad it looks.”
“Oh, it looks so bad. It looks like death! It looks like the grim reaper came and started just hacking away, like ‘whack, whack, whack!’ and the little gremlins started pulling and poking it, ‘poke, poke, poke.’ It looks like that scene in Lord of the Rings where Sauruman and the Orcs grow the Uruk-ai out of the mud and they burst out of the ugly, earthen cocoons gnashing their teeth and eating their fellow Orcs. It looks practically like death! Like Satan is coming out of your little toe!”
“TOO FAR! Stop! Stop! Stop! Don’t say Satan is coming out of my toe! You’re supposed to say something like, ‘Oh, it looks bruised! There’s dried blood on it and it looks awful. The rest of your toe is so pretty except for that spot. Do you need some ice? Ibuprofen? A band aid and some Neosporin? Let me kiss it.'”
“I shouldn’t say it looks like an Uruk-ai is bursting out of it?”
“No. You can fan me with a leaf and feed me grapes though.”
This is what the beginning of marriage is like.