Today H and I ran errands. Target(smile), shoe store(big smile), drug store, grocery store, etc...
All was going really well. Managed to pick up some super cute new summer shoes! Pick up pretty new mixing bowls for the kitchen.
Really had nothing to complain about. H was particular mellow and quite pleasant actually. (the monkeys are taking him to the Giants game tomorrow for Father's Day---he's a very happy H).
While waiting the the pharmacist to fill some prescriptions, H overheard the pharmacist assistant say she could give me an 'emergency fill' because I actually had no refills remaining for my thyroid medication.
I smiled and thanked her.
All of a sudden H leans in and semi-whispers in my ear, "that's strike number two little lady, wanna go for number three?"
Gasp. Number two? Wait, what was number one?!?
I could tell by his look, he was serious. I suddenly felt like a chastised little girl. My stomach fell.
We were still supposed to go for an nice early dinner, but suddenly I wasn't so hungry.
H was still looking at me rather pissed.
It took me awhile to register what was wrong. No matter how smart I might think I am, sometimes I can be rather slow.
Duh. The thyroid meds. The doctor said I can't ever skip a day. If I hadn't let it go till the last day, on a Saturday no less, the pharmacist wouldn't be having to give me an emergency fill for a couple days.
A few months ago, I'd forgotten to pick up my refill and ended up missing 2 days. H was furious when he found out. You would think I'd learned my lesson...or at least remember to pick up my meds on my own. ;)
Apparently, that was strike number one. Today was number two.
H then proceeded to talk to me as if I was 2. I was just thankful no one but the pharmacist overheard.
"Do I need to take control of your medication too?"
Now, I'm not about to argue with him, but really he already controls most of my other medications because I've proven myself "irresponsible"...i.e. not remembering times and days. My thyroid medication is truly one of the few meds he doesn't monitor.
If I'm honest with myself, I like that he has that control. I know he cares about my health and well being.
I don't like that he's disappointed and upset at me. That part I could do without.
Now physical punishment has never been part of our dynamic.
Secretly though, I sometimes wish it was, at least that way my guilt might be somewhat assuaged.
Even though it felt wrong, when H whispered in my ear my indiscretions, and appeared to be threatening punishment, my arousal felt so much stronger than my guilt.