I offered to help him with them. And new ones were duly bought. And they also hurt him. I offer to help once more, this time by squeezing the Fixodent in the grooves so as to hold them in place. I am glad that he is at ease with my involvement. I thought I would feel squeamish, but I don’t. Not now. Not any longer. It’s love, I think that does this. A deep cavern of care that goes beyond the aesthetic, the pretty, the perfect. Nothing is.
