Headache

My husband is an extreme extrovert, so it goes without saying that this pandemic/social distancing has been very difficult for him. 

This Saturday a good friend of ours was celebrating a birthday.  My husband, never one to pass up an opportunity, invited her and another friend over for a game night. 

Throughout the night I was heard to say things like, “Man, my head hurts.” and “Does anyone know where the Tylenol is?  I really have a headache.”

I observed to the table that the sounds were warbling in my ears.

I could be seen putting my head down and closing my eyes against the light as well as rubbing at my temples. 

By about 10:30 my headache was a full-on migraine.  I apologized for pulling out early.  Waved to the friends I wished I could hug goodbye and slowly made my way upstairs to bed. 

About an hour later my husband opened the door to our room.  “Why is it dark?  Why didn’t you turn on your light?” he asked as he walked over and learned down to click on my bedside lamp.

From under the pillow I was using to squeeze the pain into submission I said, “No, don’t, it hurts my eyes.”

My husband replied, “Why babe, do you have a headache or something?”

I didn’t reply, waiting for the follow up of, just kidding or oh yeah.  Something along those lines.

He said nothing, but I had to know, so I asked, “Are you kidding?” 

I know those words could have been delivered with sarcasm and scathing accusation, but remember I was deep in the throes of agony and the words were barely loud enough to penetrate the pillow over my face.

Still, my husband responded with the predictable defensive stance of, “What do you mean?  I can’t know everything. I’m not a mind reader.”

Now, I could call on witnesses.  The kids who answered when asked about the Tylenol.  My friends who commiserated and shared stories of their own migraines and waved good night to me.  But I chose instead to take the high road.