My husband, The Detective, is not known for jumping to conclusions. What he is known for is seeing things 2 ways: black or white. There are no shades of grey for him.
He has convinced himself that the diet that I'm on is going to kill me by either causing my gallbladder to explode or my heart to stop. I'm not really sure where he got this idea from but he has taken it and RAN WITH IT.
The other night I casually mentioned to him: "Hmmm...my arm is annoyingly numb...*shaking arm*..."
He immediately grabs my wrist and starts taking my vital signs. Meanwhile, I'm trying to read my book. Do you know how hard it is to read a book with one available hand? At this point, I'm regretting saying anything about my arm at all.
He starts in with the questions: "Do you feel dizzy? Sick? Are you numb anywhere else?"
*grabs his cellphone and goes to Web MD*
Him: "Blah, blah, blah....carpal tunnel, pinched nerve, cold air...heart attack....I think we should go to the hospital."
I look at him.
Me: "I'm fine. I feel fine. I'm sure I just leaned on it wrong." *eye roll*
We go to sleep.
The next night, I crawl into bed and fall quickly to sleep. I feel a tapping on my arm and then I feel The Detective SHAKING me awake. Is it a fire? A tornado? A rabid raccoon?
No, my friends, it isn't any of the above...
He says: "Are you OK?! You didn't look like you were breathing?! Are you feeling alright?!"
*insert stare of death here*
Me: "I am FINE. Do not wake me up AGAIN." *sigh*
I've determined that if this diet doesn't kill me then I'm definitely going to die from lack of sleep.