When your husband, who has two herniated disks (just got the MRI results today), and has been on bedrest for two days this week, agrees to go to dinner with you at Friday's because he knows you're stressed about his job security because it requires heavy lifiting, and it's your birthday tomorrow, lets you go to Forever 21 for 20 minutes, as he sits on a bench outside the mall, in pain from being ambulatory after two days of being a slug (necessary, of course), this is love. True love.
Just though you should know.
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