Handle with Care

"Oh, shoot! We were supposed to go to that show tonight, weren't we?"

It was 8 or so Sunday night, and Bill just realized that we missed a show that one of our friends was in. I had never had any intention of going. The fact that it was on Sunday aside, I simply felt like dirt.

"Meh," I said, "I wasn't feeling it."

"Yeah, me neither," he admitted. "To be honest, I'm kinda done with that for now." I nodded in agreement. "Plus!" he said, finding a valid excuse, "you're sick, and I was taking care of you."

He repeated that last line a number of times, "I was taking care of you." I wasn't sure if he was convincing himself that it was true, or that it was a valid excuse, or, perhaps, just savoring the feel of it—taking care of me when I needed it. And, if it was the later, was it taking care of me that he was savoring? Or just taking care of someone? Being needed?