Results are in...

So, as it turns out, my husband really loves me.

There are a lot of ways, if The Bachelor has taught me anything, to gauge your partner's devotion. Acts of kindness, declarations of love, and that one magical kiss are all good ardor indicators. But none of these can compare to the ultimate test of love.

The puke test.

Honestly, who could argue that the strength of a relationship is manifest by how each partner reacts while the other is vomiting?


(Time in relationship - grossness of sickness episode) / speed of partner's exit from room = strength of love

It's simple math.


And apparently, Archie really, really loves me.

I was recently down with a stomach bug and the man was a dream come true. He covered me with blankets, rubbed my back, brought me chicken soup, saltines and Gatorade, and even squeezed toothpaste onto my toothbrush when I needed it. And I needed it. A lot.

Basically, he was everything an attentive mother would be in a super-sexy package. I loved it.

He did, in true Archie fashion, tease me a little.

A: "I typed your symptoms into webmd and, guess what."
Me: "What?"
A: "You probably have AIDS."




He's a good one and I'm pretty damn lucky to have him.