His lights always do seem to shine a little bright when I tell him I like his cooking.

[ At least she's leaning against the wall as she sits, using it for some support, because she's not gonna lie about still being exhausted. At least her voice is started to sound less raw and painful than it had a week or so ago. ]

I figured this was better than shouting from the guest bedroom. Good news, it only feels like there's gravel in my hip now when I walk instead of straight up glass.