All hail the Innocent Bystander OR My husband is not a douchebag

You know, sometimes I need to take the Innocent Bystander a little more seriously. He's such a goobersmooch that I sometimes forget some of the perils of his job.  As I've said, he works in Nigeria.  Now while this is not such a third world nation that they walk around with bones in their noses, they still have a lot of problems with things that we take for granted.  Lack of clean drinking water.  A horrible reputation for corruption both in their government and their everyday lives.  Police who IF they answer the phone when you are in need won't come to your house which is being broken into because they don't have gas in their cars-unless you'll give them gas money when they get there-oh, and a little something extra for their trouble. Rampant AIDS. And malaria.  

We were sitting here last night and he reminded me of this.  He has been giving me the old "I'm sick" routine and laying around on the couch a lot since he's been home, and I just chalked it up to jetlag and a wee bit of hangover.  You know.  Beer squirts and such.  And we ARE the kind of people who operate under the 'self inflicted gets no pity or mercy' rule.  Until he mentioned that he had been in Nigeria for all this time taking malaria pills.  And that he'd stopped about a month ago because he'd not been bitten by a single mosquito in all the time he'd been there.  Until THE DAY HE LEFT when he got bitten in the cab on the way to the airport.  Lovely.  Here I've been ignoring what I was in my brain referring to as THE BIG PUSSY when he may really have a life threatening disease.  I guess sometimes I'm the big fat prick around here.  He seems better today, but now I'm really going to worry every time he coughs or sneezes, which he will probably milk for all it's worth.

I'm keeping it short today.  We had the inevitable "we are not going to live our lives around your blog" talk this morning, because I wanted to know before we set out on our morning errands (tithing at Wallyworld, cutting grass and putting the boat back into the water, don'tcha know) when I would be able to sit down for awhile to tend to my little obligation here.  Because I do feel a certain obligation.  I am thrilled that you are here, and I know how I feel when the blogs I follow just suddenly stop for a period of time.  I'm thinking things like, "Hey, where is PlungerGirl?  Surely she hasn't just passed the vaginas and boobies on to me and then just abandoned us all?" or "What about Lisa over at Clusterfook?  Is she having one of her good days, or is this one where we all need to be sending her happy thoughts and prayers?" and "I wonder how Jen's book edit is coming?" and "Is that girl (Jenny?  I read so many I sometimes get confused) still feeling like the baby inside her feels like a mason jar sized fart?" "What about The Blogess?  Has she gotten any blood or pot yet?"  You all matter to me, even the perverts and sickos.  Maybe especially the perverts and sickos.  And I'm thinking about you, and planning what I'm going to tell you next.  But the Innocent Bystander is going to have to come first, and part of that is going to have to involve some limits on my time.  So I am trying to get into a routine where I write during his nap in the early afternoon right after lunch-I can't wait until nighttime because that cuts into valuable drinking time.  And after all, he IS the one that makes this all possible, and I would like to continue being taken care of in the manner to which I've become accustomed.  Because face it.  I am MUCH higher maintenance than I look.