Plasma and Pink

My poor sweet Ben. Our financial situation has been less than savory, so he decided to donate plasma twice a week - you get paid $50 per week, which is a sweet deal. Ben ends up being there for about one hour per visit (more, if he hasn't drank enough water during the day). I just can't bring myself to donate plasma, as well. I have a hard enough time getting blood drawn for my twice-a-year thyroid panel. I used to actually faint. Now I can do okaaaaaaay. It's taken me a long time to get to this point. So the thought of blood getting drawn out of me, watching it swirl while platelets are separated, and then pumped back into me... ugh. My stomach drops at the thought.

I can't remember if this picture was from his first visit - I think it was - and the lady was like, "We only have the pink tape left to wrap your arm with," and Ben was like, "That's okay. I'm comfortable enough in my manhood to wear pink tape."

Yes, he definitely is AOK with some very effeminate situations - he carried around a pink diaper bag for two years and was cool with it, and he drove a cute little Volkswagen Beetle for a year, complete with Lexi's leftovers inside of it - a miniature high heel hanging from the rearview mirror and some fake flowers in the little flower holder. Ben's a good sport. (He did eventually remove the high heel and the fake flowers.) And he will hold my purse while I go pee when we go out to movies. He's a good man. :)