I'm definitely short...sighted.

For almost the entire duration of the time I have known and loved Shane, he's been the affectionate one in the relationship. He's my giant teddy bear. He cuddles up to me in his sleep and crushes my bones, he creeps up behind me at random moments throughout the day to squeeze me in a hug and ends up freaking me out in the process, and he always, always tries to shift the contents from one hand to the other so that he can hold my hand. In fact, once upon a time, he got a little hurt when I refused to hold his hand because it was a warm day and I feel sweaty palms are gross. He even threw a fit and tried to win my sympathy by saying that I was too embarrassed to hold his hand in public. Needless to say, that didn't work on me.

And that thing I said about shifting heavy shopping bags to one hand in order to hold my hand with the other? It's impressive how much physical discomfort this man is ready to put himself through in order to fulfill his stubborn desire to latch on to that tiny hand of mine. And sometimes, to make it happen, he even agrees to uncomplainingly carry my feminine handbag in his already full hand.

Which is why, last evening on our way home, when he persistently kept his right hand in his pocket as I tried to hold it out of habit, I thought something was really off. I really didn't want to make a big deal out of it and I definitely didn't want him to notice that I'd noticed. But I finally caved and asked him why he didn't want to hold my hand.

"Because it's too cold!", he said.

"Well, all the more reason to hold my warm hand", I said.

"No, it's your hand. That's what's too cold."

"Are you kidding m-"

"Oh wait, I'm probably confusing your hand with your robotic heart."

Am I the only one here who suspects that he started planning this joke the minute he read my previous blog post? Because do you guys remember the short jokes of 2016 that he started planning from the time he was a toddler?

Oh well, at least I know he reads this blog.