"I wish I was there to take care of you," I fretted awhile ago when Bones wasn't feeling so well.
"I'm not very good at being taken care of," he replied.
Oh, pshaw! I thought to myself. And it was then, Gentle Reader, that I forgot a very basic rule...When someone tells a truth about themselves - "I'm bad at relationships," "I'm a slob," "I enjoy licking slugs," - if your response is anything except, "Gotcha!" (and maybe doing a slug check before you tongue kiss that last person)....you are most assuredly doing it wrong.
So I wanted to have a party for Bones that involved him doing as little as possible. I don't know that I said as much, that I was clear in saying, "I want you to not have to be the adult. At all. AT ALL.". Because he is Always The Adult. He's much better at it than I am. And this party was no exception. He ended up taking care of pretty much all the party prep, thinking of food details that, , hadn't crossed my mind. I'd been focused on dinner and dessert and decor... He had veggies and cheese for snacking as WELL as a menu for dinner.
...See? Totally the adult.
And what I realized was that I could either be frustrated - and I was, a bit - or I could think about how pretty damned awesome his take-care-of-it abilities are, that he wants to help, that he isn't the kind of guy that's gonna leave me to clean the kitchen because he's taking clean-up turns when I'm not looking.
That he communicates his love of his friends and of me through acts of service.
Getting mad because I had an AGENDA, dammit, and he thwarted me by being helpful...well, that's kinda silly.
(And he bought me a cheesecake. And I'm easily bribed.)
I learned a lot about him, and about me, and about what's actually important.
And that if we ever work together on a party? It's gonna be friggin' awesome.
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