Jethro's killing me. I suffer from hypochondria. It's genetic. So when I become afflicted with an ailment, it is the perfect time to take advantage of me. Case it point.
I have vertigo. Right now. I think it's inner-ear related, but that doesn't mean I couldn't have had some kind of head trauma in my sleep. Shut up. So I go to my husband - a doctor - for reassurance. This is his purpose in life. He solemnly conducts several tests and then says he's going to test my gag reflex. I dutifully open my mouth and he unzips his zipper and laughs at me.
And a couple weeks ago, I asked him to work on my arm. He stood behind me to the right and kept pumping my arm up and down and telling me to relax. I tried for about 5 minutes before I realized he was rubbing my hand vigorously against his crotch.
He's killing me.