Last night, to begin the attempt to make it up to me, Rick went out and bought an electric blanket for my side of the bed.
It's a small start.
We stopped at the Mexican grocery store after lunch and I picked up a sackful of Bimbuñuelos. For ME.
He said yesterday, "Honest, I just noticed that they were broken and I started nibbling on the crumbs, and one thing led to another!"
Dude can't tell a lie to save his life. Never has been able to. I'm pretty sure there's no DNA coding for deceit in his cellular structure. It's an unfortunate mutation, to be sure; a well-placed prevarication can really help maintain social order and spare many from unnecessary honesty. It's why I now no longer ask him questions like, "Does this make my butt look big?" because he can't NOT tell the truth.